


Wicked Mouths

by Boy_On_Strings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Developing Relationship, Drunk Dialing, Drunken Confessions, Dry Humping, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Locker Room, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Snark, Underage Drinking, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boy_On_Strings/pseuds/Boy_On_Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tension rises between Jackson and Stiles after an encounter in the locker room leaves them both confused about what happened and why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Careless Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little out of control.

* * *

"Damn I wish they would turn up the heat in here," Stiles said as he walked quickly from the locker room's showers to the locker that held his clothes. He shivered in the cool air, clutching the bag that had his shower supplies in it to his chest.

"What's the matter Stilinksi? You're shaking, thinking about too many naked boys in the showers?" a smug voice said from behind him.

Stiles groaned when he heard Jackson's voice. He really didn't have the patience to deal with the asshole today. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder to see pale blue eyes regarding him. Stiles had thought that he was alone, that everyone else had already left since he had to stay and run extra laps because Coach didn't really think he was that funny.

"Aren't you supposed to have a gay best friend?" Stiles asked, "Doesn't that sort of make you a huge douche for making a gay joke?"

Jackson stalked over to him and got up in his face, he accidentally dropped the shower bag he was clutching. It was totally because of the soap. It had nothing to do with fact that another dude in a towel was practically about to be pinning him against his locker.

"I don't have any issues with gay people Stilinski," Jackson said as he leaned in close to speak softly and directly into Stiles's ear, "I have a problem with people who go after things that don't belong to them."

Stiles put his hands on Jackson's chest to try to push the arrogant bastard away but Jackson grabbed his wrists. They struggled, towels dipped on smooth hips and when they were done thrashing about Jackson had Stiles's hands pinned above his head, back against the locker. The cold metal sent chills down Stiles's spine.

"What the hell dude," Stiles said, "let me go!"

Jackson leaned in; body flush against Stiles's and whispered again. This time it was close enough that Stiles felt the occasional brush of lips against the sensitive shell of his ear. "So tell me Stilinski," Jackson said, his breath hot against Stiles's skin, "is it really Lydia you're sniffing after or are you just curious what I taste like and too afraid to ask?"

Stiles shivered against the heat radiating off of Jackson, bit his lips as his body's trembling inadvertently caused the skin of their torsos to rub slickly together. The horrifying thing was that Stiles was suddenly not sure himself. It seemed impossible because they were so close but Jackson was somehow getting closer, holding more of Stiles against the locker. The only thing that was separating their skin was two thin layers of towels.

"Screw you Jackson," Stiles said, trying to keep his voice calm, "you seem to be the one who wants to know a little bit more about me right now."

Jackson pulled his body back as he adjusted the grip he had on Stiles's wrists so he could hold them both with one hand. He used the other to flick playfully at one of Stiles's hardening nipples. Stiles wanted to punch Jackson in the face for the way the blonde smirked at him when he licked his lips nervously. He struggled to free himself but Jackson's hold was too tight. Stiles needed to work out more if he was going to get in fights with other lacrosse players.

"This is just a game for me Stilinski," Jackson told him as he playfully twisted Stiles's other nipple in his fingers, "we both know that I've got everything you want."

Why did this have to happen in the locker room after lacrosse practice? Sometimes he really hated his life. Stiles tried to hide his growing arousal but it was impossible with Jackson's thigh right up against it. Two towels weren't exactly the Great Wall of China. His mind skittered at the thought, he was going to be as hard as the Great Wall of China if Jackson didn't stop grinding into his dick and tweaking his nipples. He was a teenage boy; all it normally took was a stiff wind.

"Oh god," Stiles whispered, "why do I keep coming up with these analogies?" He immediately regretted it, he hated that his internal monologue was frequently an external monologue against his will.

"What's that Stilinski?" Jackson asked, "I can't hear you over that needy whining sound you're making."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Jackson, he could play this game. He was awesome at games. If Jackson wanted to see what could happen to any teenage guy's body if you fucked with it, then Stiles was more than happy to kick his ass at it.

"Jackson…" Stiles panted out, licking his lower lip and letting his mouth hang open slightly. Jackson's blue eyes blinked at him for a second, watched his flickering tongue and lips. Stiles wasn't sure if Jackson's dick grinding into him suddenly was instinctual or purposeful but either way, his plan was working. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the locker exposing his throat. "Harder…" he begged, "I want more."

He felt the wet heat of Jackson's tongue against his throat accompanied by little nips. Jackson was just as hard as he was now. His mind wandered and his dick twitched as Jackson got the two of them lined up and started rutting into him. He couldn't remember what his plan was anymore, couldn't think of anything except for how he thought he could feel the heat of Jackson's cock through two layers of cotton.

"Fuck…" Jackson panted as he rubbed their hard lengths together.

"Jackson…" Stiles breathed out.

He spread his legs wider, towel almost slipping off but tried to give Jackson more room to maneuver. The athletic body delivered exactly what he wanted as it thrust against him. He whined at the aching pleasure shattering his concentration. His breath hitched as Jackson trailed the hand that wasn't holding his wrists along his side before gripping his hip with bruising force.

Stiles opened his eyes when Jackson's mouth left his throat; blue eyes were locked on his. He licked his lips again and Jackson's mouth was hanging slightly open too. They were panting, breaths coming in shaking fits. Their lips were so close, Jackson leaned forward slightly as though he was going to kiss him but Stiles turned his head away. Jackson made an angry growling noise and slammed his hips harder into Stiles. It was almost to the point of being painful but Stiles loved the edge to it.

Jackson bit his earlobe and hot breath was right in his ear, tickling the skin and making Stiles's stomach flutter at the sensation. Stiles shuddered when Jackson released his hip, no doubt there would be bruises there later. Jackson trailed the hand up over Stiles's belly and pulled mercilessly at his nipples again.

He wasn't sure who was winning anymore as he panted, he wanted more of Jackson's hips, more of that biting mouth. Jackson kept moving his hand up Stiles body, stroking and lightly gripping Stiles's neck in his calloused hand. Stiles almost came, his hips bucked forward slightly and Jackson hissed out another hot breath against his ear. Stiles thought they might both be right on the edge of losing control, he knew he was.

Jackson released the possessive grip on his throat and Stiles whined at the loss, much to his own surprise. The sound seemed to compel Jackson to thrust harder, the locker was shaking and clanging behind him and Stiles hoped that they really were the last two people in the locker room because otherwise this was going to be the gossip people talked about for the rest of the year.

Jackson's fingers trailed up over his face and rubbed against his lips. Stiles sucked two of those fingers into his mouth, snaked his tongue around and between them. Jackson made a strangled noise and Stiles worked his mouth and tongue harder.

"Fuck you have a wicked mouth," Jackson said, "I guess you really did want to know what I taste like."

' _What a fucking asshole,'_  Stiles thought. He scraped his teeth lightly against one of the fingers he was sucking on, hoping that Jackson got the message.

The hand Jackson was using to pin his wrists above his head tightened and his hips slammed into Stiles again hard enough to shake the lockers. Stiles had the wild thought that Jackson was practically trying to fuck him through the metal. Their towels would have fallen to the floor if there had been any space between their bodies but Jackson was doing his level best to fuck his way right through Stiles. Jackson must have liked the little edge of pain that Stiles's teeth had caused.

He groaned around the fingers in his mouth as Jackson abandoned his ear and bit into the soft flesh of his neck, whined at the force of the bite and the sucking heat as Jackson worked on the sensitive skin. Stiles was going to have a ridiculously huge mark to try to explain.

He sucked the fingers harder, tried to get more friction to his hard cock. Jackson made angry frustrated noises and pulled his fingers out of Stiles's mouth, let go of Stiles's wrists and used both hands to still Stiles's hips so that he could grind their dicks together more directly but still through the cotton that Stiles desperately wished wasn't there.

Finally free to use his hands Stiles used one to grip the back of Jackson's hair and yank his head back roughly, loving the gasping noise Jackson made. Stiles scratched his nails harshly down Jackson's back and sank his teeth into the exposed neck in front of him. Jackson would have marks of his own to explain when Stiles was done. Teeth marks, light red scratches from fingernails that might be taking it right to the edge of too far without crossing over.

Jackson's body started shuddering wildly, the teeth, the hair pulling, and the nails seemed to have sent him over the edge and his body spasmed. Even through the towels Stiles imagined he could feel the hot wet mess Jackson was making. It made him bite and suck harder at Jackson's neck and when the athletic blonde panted out "fuck yes", Stiles's body seized up and he was unloading into his own towel with just as much force as Jackson had. Stiles's release had been so powerful his legs were wobbly and he might have fallen if Jackson wasn't still holding him against the locker.

Stiles released Jackson's hair when the blonde tried to shake it free. Released the flesh of the neck he had in his teeth and let his arms fall to his sides. Jackson stepped back and they looked at each other, both of them trying to readjust the towels that had become a lot more uncomfortably sticky.

They didn't speak as they both grabbed new towels and headed back into the showers. Stiles occasionally caught Jackson staring at him through the steam. Jackson occasionally caught his wandering glances too. Once they were clean again with fresh towels wrapped around their waists they looked into each other's eyes.

"I told you I had everything you wanted." Jackson said smugly again.

The arrogance of it made Stiles want to scream. Jackson had practically been on the verge of begging Stiles to fuck him at the end. Stiles shook his head to clear away how good the memory of Jackson's hand closing on his throat had been, how much harder it had made him. He suddenly really wanted to say something to hurt Jackson, to humiliate him the way he felt exposed and humiliated.

"You know Jackson," Stiles said, with venom in his voice "I thought about that when you tried to kiss me." Jackson stiffened with anger, but Stiles kept on going, "but you don't have everything I want. You'd need more than one real friend for that to be true."

Blue eyes blinked at him and Stiles suddenly regretted what he said when he saw the crack of emotion that seemed to splinter the jock's arrogant gaze. Jackson looked away from him and then without saying anything else turned and walked away to where his locker was.

Stiles stood silently in the cold air of the locker room and listened to the slamming metal and angry jerking of zippers and cloth. He jumped when the door to the locker room slammed closed. He suddenly felt really bad about what he said.

"Fuck," he whispered into the silence of the room, the only other noise being the occasional drip of water, "I really do have a wicked mouth."

Stiles got dressed, ran his fingers lightly over the painful swelling on his neck. He tried to think of some way he could fix the situation. He looked back at the locker he had just been held up against, where his first non-solo sexual experience had taken place. The truth was he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted anymore. He made his way out of the locker room. He realized he also wasn't sure that he could get it once he figured it out.


	2. Fuck Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little out of hand in Chemistry.

* * *

Jackson was going to ignore Stiles but he knew it would be increasingly difficult as the day went by. They only had a few classes together, but he knew they'd be sitting together at lunch. They had to make it through Chemistry first. If Stiles had told Scott or anyone else about yesterday's locker room after hours show he'd break the kid's neck.

He entered the classroom and stopped short as everyone was milling about in the middle of the room looking confused. He glanced around the room and noticed there were name tags at each of the stations. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"I know you're probably all wondering what's going on," Mr. Harris said as he entered behind Jackson, "find your name tag, sit down, and I'll explain it once the bell rings."

Jackson walked around the tables and noticed he was in the back corner. He also noticed that Stiles was already sitting at a stool next to the window. The dark haired guy looked even more awkward and nervous than normal. Jackson didn't even think that was possible.

"Fucking perfect…" he grunted as he slammed his books down on the desk.

His anger was soothed slightly by the fact that Stiles dropped his pen when the sudden impact frightened him enough that he almost fell off the stool. He didn't look at Stiles at all; he just watched Mr. Harris and thought about how he would try to get his partner switched to Danny or just about any other person in the class.

"Heya Jacks…" Stiles said.

Fury bubbled up in his chest when he heard Stiles call him 'Jacks', who the hell did the guy think he was giving him some ridiculous pet name. They weren't dating, they weren't even friends. He turned and looked at Stiles and stared at him until he swallowed nervously and almost fell off the stool again.

"What did you just call me?" he asked quietly.

"J-A-C-K-S" Stiles said, really slowly, like he was on tranquilizers or something.

"That's not my name Stilinski," Jackson told him, pulling a pencil out and accidently snapping it.

"Well my name's not Stilinski," Stiles said, "well… actually it is, but it's not my first name."

"Neither is Stiles asshat." Jackson said.

Stiles's opened his mouth, licked his lower lip nervously, and then closed it again. Jackson wasn't sure if he was more shocked that Stiles was speechless or that his dick twitched slightly when he saw that darting pink muscle flicking out of Stiles's mouth.

Jackson tried not to think about how that mouth and tongue had felt around his fingers. He tried not to think about how Stiles had turned his head away when he tried to kiss him yesterday. Jackson also tried not to think about what Stiles's mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock. He tried not to think about that and also not get hard in his jeans that were suddenly not as loose as he had thought they were. He failed. He failed dramatically.

Stiles was staring at him, probably trying to think of something witty to say. Jackson ground his teeth together. He wanted to adjust himself but he could see Stiles's eyes darting back and forth in his peripheral vision.

"Jacks, I wanted-"

"Shut the fuck up, or I swear to god I'm going to slam you onto this desk and hate fuck the shit out of you until you can't speak." Jackson said through his teeth as quietly as he could.

The bell rang and Stiles fell forward off the stool in shock. Jackson hissed when one of Stiles's hands landed in his lap when Jackson tried to keep the kid from knocking them both over. A couple of Stiles's fingers brushed over Jackson's denim covered erection.

"Oh shit," Stiles whispered, his fingers stroked Jackson lightly through his jeans, "you're as hard as I am."

Jackson's eyes automatically dipped to Stiles's crotch when he heard the words, he could see the outline of Stiles's swollen erection through the pants he was wearing. "Sit down, and get your hand off my dick!" Jackson said a little more hysterically than he intended.

Stiles pulled his hand away like he had been burned but his eyes were locked onto Jackson's crotch. Jackson shifted his legs, it didn't help. His junk was tangled up in his boxer briefs and pants. He brought one of his hands down to his lap and adjusted himself into a better position. He blushed when Stiles made a soft needy sound low in his throat.

He watched out of his peripheral vision as Stiles dropped back onto his stool. The kid was adjusting himself the same way that Jackson had, only he was biting his lower lip to try to keep himself quiet. He knew Stiles had vocalization issues, but that was ridiculous. Jackson wondered if Stiles knew the meaning of quiet, discretion, or still.

Jackson turned his attention back towards the front of the room; this was going to be the longest chemistry class of his life. He tried to focus and not think about Stiles's nervous twitching next to him. He breathed in and out calmly. He needed to not be hard all through Chemistry.

"Jacks," Stiles whispered, "can I talk to you after class?"

"Do not fucking call me that…" Jackson warned him.

"You're snippy when you're horny" Stiles said.

"You really do want me to fuck you on this table don't you," Jackson said with just as much venom as Stiles had used the day before, "you're a fucking whore."

Stiles's mouth clicked shut and his eyes blinked a couple of times quickly. Jackson tried to ignore the flicker of pain he saw briefly flash across Stiles's face. He couldn't think when Stiles was talking, and Stiles was  _always… fucking… talking_.

"You're such a dick Jackson." Stiles said.

"That must be why you want me," Jackson said as he looked over into brown eyes that were watching him with a guarded expression, "you're practically shaking with the need to be balls deep in your own fist. Licking your lips and wishing it was my cock."

Whatever Jackson had been expecting as a reaction to that comment, it wasn't a face full of Stiles's fist. He went backwards off the stool. When he got back on his feet he was seeing red, he was about to beat Stiles to death when Mr. Harris got between them.

"You're both just earned detention," Mr. Harris said, "but first you're going to the principal's office."

Jackson laughed to himself as he thought,  _'guess it's actually going to be the shortest chemistry class of my life'_.


	3. Awkward Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott wants to know what's going on but Stiles doesn't really know himself.

* * *

"Dude, why do you look like you lost a cage fight with a vacuum cleaner?" Scott asked.

Stiles accidentally slammed his knuckles against the door to his locker in surprise. He was not prepared for that question. He closed the locker and turned to look at his best friend.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." Stiles told him.

Scott raised his eyebrows and reached out and poked the swollen bruise on Stiles's neck. Stiles yelped and smacked his friend's hand away. He was not going to answer the question, didn't even know how he could answer the question. If he did he wasn't sure he could ever look Scott in the face again.

"Whatever man, is it true you socked Jackson during chemistry?" Scott asked, in a very excited tone, "I wish Mr. Harris hadn't forced us into different periods last week. I hope you made Jackson's nose bleed."

"It was more like a right cross to the jaw," Stiles said and playfully poked his fist into Scott's chin.

"You just became my hero," Scott said, "I can't wait to see him during lacrosse practice and ask him if we need to call the police on Lydia for domestic abuse!"

"Well, you're not going to get the chance today, Jackson and I both scored detention after our little scuffle." Stiles said.

"Sucks that you're going to miss practice," Scott said as he winced in sympathy. He clapped his hand on Stiles's shoulder, "thanks for taking one for the team."

Heat rushed to Stiles's face, the comment making him think about what Jackson had said about the chemistry table. That memory led him to the accidental junk touching, which took him back further in his memory to the not so accidental junk rubbing in the locker room. He licked his lips.

"Dude, stop thinking about Lydia" Scott said.

Stiles blinked at Scott not really knowing what he was talking about. Why would Scott think he was thinking about Lydia? That didn't make any sense…

"Oh… OH! Dude gross! Don't sniff me!" Stiles said a little hysterically.

Scott pinched his nose with his fingers and made a face like he was going to throw up. "I can't help it; it's leaking off you so bad I can't smell anything else!"

Stiles wished he had a can of air freshener so he could spray it around himself. He did not need to think about his best friend detecting his dick's interest in the bastard that was Jackson Whittemore.

"Don't you have class or something?" Stiles asked to change the subject.

Scott let go of his nose and grinned mischievously at Stiles. "Allison and I are thinking about skipping the rest of the day."

Stiles sighed; he doubted Scott's English grade could remain a D+ if he missed even more class. He knew when to pick his battles though, and he could never win a battle against that glossed over look that came into Scott's eyes. He was glad he didn't have werewolf senses; he didn't want to be able to smell Scott's reaction to whatever was going through the guy's mind.

He let Scott's mind wander, didn't want him to bring up any more questions about the bruise on his neck. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder; he didn't have much longer before he had to be at class. He didn't need to get into any more trouble by being late.

Scott seemed to snap out of the daze he was in at the sound of another locker slamming closed nearby. Stiles watched as the guy blinked a couple of times, then put on his 'I'm such a bad friend face'. Stiles knew where that was going to lead.

"Hey," Scott started, "about hanging out tonight…"

"You're going to study with Allison right?" Stiles said, making little quote marks with his fingers as he said 'study'.

"Is that a problem? We can just hang out this weekend or whatever okay? I mean, you probably want some alone time with whoever tried to gnaw your head off yeah?" Scott said hopefully.

Stiles reflexively covered the mark with his hand and tried not to wince at how sensitive it was, tried not think about how it had gotten there again. He hated being a teenage boy, he'd never had to take a break in the guy's bathroom to work out tension before, but he was beginning to think he understood why someone might do it.

"Yeah it's cool…" Stiles said.

He waved to Scott's back as his friend turned around and ran down the hall to meet up with Allison. She waved to him and he smiled and waved back. No point in not being civil, even if she had stolen his friend and put him under her evil siren's song. He sighed to himself and started to head towards his next class.

Stiles didn't even want to think about how brutal detention was going to be, or how he would deal with Jackson. They hadn't talked to each other at all while they sat outside the Principal's office earlier. Stiles shivered remembering the uneasy tension. He had already decided he wasn't even going to eat lunch in the cafeteria; he'd hide out in the gymnasium instead. Luckily he had brought food with him. Before he had even left for school he wasn't sure he wanted to sit in the same lunch room as Jackson. Now, after having decked the guy, there was no fucking way.

His phone beeped, he pulled it out of his jeans wondering who would even be messaging him in the middle of the day, especially since Scott had already made his escape. He unlocked the device and pulled up his messages. It was from his father. His heart began to sink. He didn't even want to read it. His dad was terrible at texting; the fact that he even sent a message meant that he didn't want Stiles to hear how angry his voice was.

He closed his eyes and opened the message, opened one eye and peaked at it, then reread it with both eyes as his mouth fell open. His father was going to be working late, but they were going to have a long talk in the morning.

Stiles knew that by long talk his father meant long disappointed stare and negotiation of the rules of his grounding. The day just couldn't get any worse. As he turned the corner to enter his class he caught site of Jackson down the hall getting ready to enter his own classroom.

They stared at each other for a few minutes; Stiles felt a twisting maelstrom of emotions in his gut, most of which he didn't have words for. Then the bell rang and he was officially late for class since he wasn't in his seat.  _'Great',_ he thought,  _'I haven't even got to the awesome detention part yet…'_


	4. More Awkward Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny knows that something's wrong with Jackson.

* * *

"I thought Lydia was out sick today, now I'm starting to wonder if you broke her or something…"

Jackson almost dropped his lunch tray on the table as he sat down next to Danny. That was not something he had expected to hear from his best friend. He caught the apple that fell off his tray before it rolled onto the floor.

"What?" Jackson asked.

"I never figured Lydia to be much of a wild cat or biter, but she certainly marked you up pretty good," Danny said.

Jackson looked away from his friend and took a bite out of the apple, he cast his eyes around the cafeteria looking for Stiles but he didn't see him anywhere. Allison and Scott were gone too, that pretty much left him at a table with Danny and a few of the other lacrosse team members.

"Nice battle scar Whittemore! Up high!" Greenburgh said.

Jackson stared at him until the lacrosse player but his hand back down on the lunch table. There was no way he was high fiving anyone over the monstrous hickey Stiles Stilinski left on his neck. He was still thinking about beating the kid to death the next time he saw him.

"So…" Danny said, "You want to tell me what happened with you and Stiles?"

"No." Jackson said, taking another bite out of his apple, hoping Danny would change the subject.

"He's not really a punch someone in the face kind of guy."

"You saying it's my fault?"

"Calm down man, I'm not saying it's anyone's fault. I just don't want to see two of my teammates missing practice because they're fighting."

Danny laid a calming hand on Jackson's arm. Now Jackson felt like a complete douche. He probably deserved Stiles trying to rearrange his face but the kid was so fucking aggravating. Just thinking about him set him on edge. He was so turned around that now he was snapping at Danny too. He didn't even realize he was crushing the small bottle of water he was holding until he felt the liquid spill onto his hand.

"Sorry," Jackson said, "it was a misunderstanding that went too far."

Jackson tried to look Danny in the eyes but he couldn't, not when he was lying to the only person in the world he knew cared about him. Danny patted his arm and offered him the non crushed bottle of water from his own tray.

"You're fine man." Danny said.

Jackson nodded his thanks but waved away the offered bottle. He wished he was fine. He wished he wasn't stuck thinking about that stupid chemistry class and all the things that led up to it. Jackson wanted to know where Stiles was. Had he left early? The kid was going to get in more trouble if he skipped the rest of the day with his friends. It's not like Jackson wanted to see him in detention, it wasn't like he wanted to know what Stiles had wanted to talk to him about.

"You are fine right?" Danny asked.

"Yeah… I'm good. I'm just going to go get some more water." Jackson stood up, laid a hand on Danny's shoulder as he walked around him, hoping Danny would understand. His friend looked up and nodded at him. Of course Danny would understand. Danny always seemed to know what Jackson needed, even when he didn't know himself.

He was leaving the lunch line and taking a drink from his new bottle of water when someone grabbed his arm, he turned around hoping it was Stiles, he wasn't sure if he was going to punch the guy in the face or apologize. His stomach twisted in anticipation as he turned around. It wasn't Stiles though, it was Coach Finstock. The coach had his angry face on.

"Whittemore, what the hell is this about you getting detention?" Finstock asked.

"I got into a fight with a kid in chemistry." Jackson said as he looked down. He didn't want to see the disappointment in the coach's eyes. Jackson couldn't stand it when anyone looked at him in disappointment. A flickering image of sad brown eyes crossed his mind.

"I heard Bilinski popped you in the jaw." Finstock said.

"He did coach."

"You guys fighting over a girl or something?"

"N-no…"

"Well then get your act together! Get it solved! I don't think one of the co-captains is going to have very much authority with the team if they're getting beat up by kids who are barely first string."

Before Jackson could respond the coach was storming off. It made him furious, to be talked down to like that. Jackson was the best player they had. The team would listen to what he said because he knew what he was talking about. It didn't matter what some nobody like Stiles had done to him.

"Why do you hate water bottles today?" Danny asked, coming up and patting him on the back.

Jackson looked down at his hand. He was so upset he hadn't even realized he crushed the second bottle and that it was pouring onto the floor. Danny pried the plastic bottle from his fingers and handed him some napkins.

"Thanks." Jackson said, not meeting Danny's gaze as he wiped his hands dry.

"You want to talk about it?" Danny asked.

"No."

"Do you really not want to talk about it, or do you not want to talk about it with all these people around?"

He sighed and looked into Danny's eyes, trying to get him to understand that what was wrong was something Danny couldn't fix. His friend had always wanted to fix him. The goalie just didn't realize that there were things in the world that couldn't be fixed, things like Jackson, things that never worked right in the first place.

"I can't talk about it." Jackson said, breaking eye contact with his friend and looking at the floor.

"When you can, I'll be ready to listen," Danny said, "You know that right?"

"Yeah… thanks man"

Danny pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back. "Let's get you another bottle of water, my treat. Maybe try drinking it with a straw though. I'll hold it for you if you need me to."

He pushed Danny away from him and grinned. "Whatever man," Jackson said, "if you keep going soft like that you'll end up as the water boy."

"Better the water boy than the towel boy, I imagine things have happened to the towels in the locker room that I'd be better off not knowing about." Danny said jokingly.

Jackson almost swallowed his own tongue. Danny had no idea, no idea at all about the kinds of things that happened to some of those towels. He shook his head to clear the image of Stiles chewing on his lower lip that invaded his mind.

"Detention is going to fucking suck," Jackson said.

"That's why it's not a reward."

Jackson nodded to his friend; Danny had no idea just how right he was.


	5. Passing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Stiles exchange notes while in detention.

* * *

Keeping a careful eye on Mr. Harris, Stiles tore a sheet of paper out of his notebook. The teacher was focusing on grading papers. Stiles scribbled a quick note on the piece of paper. He looked to the side to see what Jackson was doing. The blonde was looking out the window, the lines of muscle in his neck stood out like he was tensed up, Stiles could see Jackson's knuckles straining over the grip he had on his pencil.

Stiles looked down at what he had written so far on the paper he had torn out.

' _Hey, sorry about that whole punch to the face thing. Actually, I'm totally not, you deserved that for being a dick.'_

Stiles scratched it out. He stared at the paper trying to will the correct message onto it. Frustrated he crumbled it up and tore out a new piece. He glanced over at Jackson when he heard the pencil snap. He shook his head, wondering what had provoked the guy into breaking it.

By the time he had crumbled up seven pieces of paper Stiles noticed that Jackson was freaking out every time he heard the noise of the paper rustling. Stiles glanced down at his eighth piece of paper and considered the message he had written.

' _Give me your phone number. For the project…'_

Stiles thought it was fairly diplomatic. They would have to work together after school, and having Jackson's phone number only made sense. He added his own phone number right underneath the request for Jackson's. Mr. Harris was still engrossed in his grading, so Stiles carefully folded the sheet into a paper airplane. He tossed it towards Jackson.

The paper landed not far from the athlete's backpack. Jackson's head snapped around, he glared at Stiles for at least thirty seconds before picking up the paper. Stiles made a gesture as though unfolding the airplane. Jackson flipped him off then reluctantly opened up the page and read it.

Mr. Harris looked up; Stiles went back to coloring in his textbook with a highlighter in an effort to seem innocent. He glanced up at the teacher who didn't seem to be fooled by the highlighting. Stiles hated that Mr. Harris's natural talent for detecting malarkey surpassed most of the other teachers in the school. He breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Harris looked away, then grimaced when he realized the sigh had momentarily renewed the teacher's interest.

Stiles tried to focus as what felt like hours passed. He glanced up at the clock over the door, only three minutes had gone by. Detention was hell. He wished they just switched people and then let them go. It was criminal to trap children inside instead of letting them run free. That's what was really wrong with the educational system, too much inside time.

A small piece of paper struck Stiles in the side of the head, breaking him out of the daze he had slipped into. He rubbed his head as he looked around and noticed a small folded triangle of paper on the desk next to his hand. Stiles glanced over at Jackson and ground his teeth at the jock's smirk. Jackson went back to looking through his own textbook, so Stiles decided to retrieve the note and see what it said.

' _Fuck you Stilinski'_  was written on the paper underneath a stick figure drawing of what appeared to be a blowjob in progress. That wasn't exactly the best caption; the stick figures should have been banging in order for it to make sense. Jackson wasn't exactly reinventing art and wit.

Stiles added a message underneath Jackson's; it said  _'No thanks, my dick is still a little raw from you trying to fuck me through a locker. You can have a taste once it's feeling better though.'_

He reread the message a couple of times before adding:  _'Then again, your lips look like they are fairly soft and soothing. Has anyone told you that you have perfect cocksucking lips?'_

Stiles smiled as he folded the paper up again the way Jackson had it. Imagining Jackson's face to be the field goal marker on a football field, Stiles flicked the paper back at the blonde. The paper didn't strike Jackson; it arced feebly through the air before barely landing on the edge of the desk. The blonde had to stretch to the far side of the station he was at in order to retrieve it. Stiles smirked when Jackson's face flushed red with what Stiles assumed was embarrassment.

He watched curiously as Jackson's hand jerked about adding a new message to the paper. Jackson flicked it back and Stiles snagged it out of the air in mid-flight. The look of shock on Jackson's face was utterly satisfying. Stiles was relieved he had managed to catch the paper, if he had failed that would have been embarrassing.

Stiles opened the message, licking his lips nervously as he began to read. He was frowning by the time he got to the end of it.

' _That's like the pot calling the kettle black. With the amount of time you spend licking your lips in anticipation it's a wonder that McCall ever lets you off his dick long enough to go to class.'_

Stiles scribbled down a response that said,  _'It's sort of funny that you spend so much time thinking about me blowing people. Does it get you hot? Thinking about my lips on Scott? Do you wonder what things my tongue is capable of? Do you wonder what noises Scott would make as I tore apart his sanity with my lips? I'll warn you Jackson, my mouth RUINS people. Every other blowjob is just a bitter reminder that it's not my throat working its magic.'_

He folded the paper back up, trying not to think about how none of what he just wrote was true. Stiles had never blown anyone, let alone Scott. How hard could it really be though? Stiles had eaten countless popsicles, bananas, and lollipops in his life. It'd probably be like riding a bike, it'd just come naturally.

He blinked as he looked down at the folded up paper in his hands. It wasn't as if he was thinking about giving anyone a blowjob though, it was just part of the back and forth. He didn't want to know if Jackson's dick tasted as good as his neck…

Stiles sent the paper spinning end over end back towards Jackson. The blonde had just picked it up and started to read it when Mr. Harris's voice cut through the silence in the room. "Detention's over, both of you get out, and don't let me catch you fighting again."

Stiles glanced over at Jackson, watched as the blonde swallowed nervously not having seemed to have heard the teacher at all. His eyes were locked on what Stiles had written on the paper. Stiles smiled to himself, another point for him. Jackson was sucking wind in this race for witty superiority.

He whistled happily to himself as he made his way out of the school and into the parking lot. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he was unlocking the door to his baby. He patted the jeep with one hand as he pulled his phone out with the other. There was a text message from a number he didn't recognize.

' _Fuck you...'_ is what it said.

Stiles grinned at his phone; he had the number, that was a start.

 


	6. Drunk Dial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson makes a phone call.

* * *

Jackson took another gulp from the bottle of beer before setting it on the ground next to the four empty ones already in the grass. He picked up his lacrosse stick and made a shot at the can he had setup. It bounced off the rim. He ground his teeth as he hurled his stick to the ground in frustration. Jackson wished he could blame it on being drunk but the truth was more painful. He just wasn't good enough to make the shot.

He slumped down to the ground and picked up his beer, taking another drink before running his hand through his hair. Jackson was a mess. He didn't know how he was going to drive his car home from the park. He didn't care; he downed the rest of his fifth beer and opened the sixth. His intention was to get through twelve before he passed out wherever he happened to be at the time.

Jackson wiped angrily at his face, tried to focus on the light headed tingling spreading through his nerves as the alcohol took its effect. He couldn't forget though, the beer wasn't helping him with that and he drank faster. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd broken up with Lydia right before he'd run into Stiles in the locker room. She hadn't been at school earlier because she was probably upset.

Jackson didn't care enough to do anything about it. That was his problem with everything in his life. He didn't care enough. Stiles had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and when he had seen him in the locker room he couldn't get the image of the goofy kid moving in on Lydia now that he was out of the picture.

What happened that afternoon was not what he had expected. He never thought he'd be dry humping another lacrosse player against the lockers. He hadn't expected to want to kiss the soft lips of another boy. Jackson finished off the sixth bottle and hurled it against the tree he had turned into a makeshift goal. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes. He hadn't expected the boy he wanted to kiss to turn his head away.

Jackson wasn't good enough to kiss, just to fuck around with. He ran his hands through his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he swallowed around the pain of it. He had called Stiles a whore, but Jackson was the whore. He wasn't clever or brilliant, he was just good looking. His body was all he had, the only thing that was his. It wasn't something his foster parents had bought for him; he built it with his own sweat and time.

He wished he wasn't such a fucking asshole. It all came down to choices. Jackson wasn't very good at making the right choice. He pulled the cap off the seventh beer, sipped it lightly before closing his eyes. When Stiles had acted like he wanted him, had licked those lips and whispered his name it had set something off in Jackson, a chain reaction that was causing his whole world to collapse.

Jackson couldn't shake the memory of firm hands yanking his head back, couldn't break away from thoughts of sharp teeth on his neck and nails scratching down his back. The girls he had been with, they were soft and loving as they stroked his skin and stared into his eyes. Stiles hadn't been like that. There had been need and desire there. Stiles wasn't afraid that Jackson was going to break if he applied too much pressure. Stiles didn't care about Jackson's perfect hair or perfect clothes. In that moment he had wanted Jackson on a primitive level. It was simple. Jackson hadn't known how much he needed it until it was happening.

Predictably Jackson fucked it up. He'd thrown up a smokescreen of arrogant bullshit and Stiles had looked hurt. If Jackson had kept his mouth shut maybe they wouldn't be doing this thing to each other with the horrible biting comments. Sniping back and forth trying to see who could hurt the other one more.

He wanted to go back, to do it all over. Jackson wanted to explain what he was afraid of when he had seen Stiles, wanted to tell the other guy he was sorry for the things he had said. He wanted Stiles to not have turned away when he tried to kiss him. Jackson wanted to know why he had done that.

Was it just teenage hormones? Bodies were bodies and if you touched them they got interested. Jackson wondered if that's all it was. Perhaps Stiles had never wanted to kiss him, just wanted to get off after Jackson had started getting him worked up. Stiles had seemed interested in Chemistry though, had seemed like he wanted to talk to Jackson about something.

Predictably Jackson had fucked that up too. He should have just agreed to meet with the kid, but he was so upset about what Stiles had said, upset about what he had done that he couldn't think. He finished the seventh beer and opened the eighth. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and stared at the words for the hundredth time since detention earlier that day.

Jackson did think about Stiles's lips, just not around McCall. Jackson had been haunted by that mouth and that tongue, by memories of the heat and wetness around his fingers and on his neck. He had jerked off twice to the memory, once when he had gotten home, filled with shame as he did it, and once in the morning. He'd been in the shower, surrounded by the steam and wishing Stiles had been there with him, like when they'd been in the shower together in the locker room. He came at the image of Stiles behind him, one hand gripping his hair and yanking his head back, the other steadying his hips as Stiles sank into him inch by inch.

He guzzled the eighth beer, hurled it against the tree and wiped the moisture from his eyes. He coughed to clear his throat and worked on the ninth beer. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at Stiles's number. He typed a text message apology then deleted it, hating that he didn't have the guts to send it.

Jackson fell onto his back; the alcohol permeating his bloodstream wasn't blunting the turmoil in his head, just made it surreal. Jackson was out of control, emotions whipping from his gut to his heart, through his brain and down into his groin, further to his toes and up into his throat and he couldn't stop any of them. He just clung to the buzzing in his brain and tried to focus on finishing the ninth beer while lying on the ground. He barely cared when some of it spilled down his face onto his neck.

He looked down at the digital display on his phone. It was 11:43pm. He dialed a number.

"Hello?" Stiles said.

Jackson didn't say anything. He clutched the phone to his head and listened to the breathing on the other side of the line. Tried to imagine what Stiles was doing at that moment.

"Jacks? I can hear you breathing…" Stiles said softly.

He didn't want to admit it but he had begun to love that name. It was like Stiles had created this special thing just for him. Tidal waves of alcohol induced emotions swept out from his stomach causing his body to tremble in the grass.

"I-I wanted to hear your voice." Jackson admitted.

Stiles was quiet on the other side of the line. Jackson knew that he sounded drunk. Hopefully Stiles would chalk this whole thing up to a drunk dial. Hopefully Stiles wouldn't hang up on him.

"You're drunk." Stiles said, but his voice didn't sound judgmental, just noting down the circumstances.

"Yeah…" Jackson said.

"Did you drive to wherever you are?" Stiles asked, Jackson would have thought that Stiles's voice sounded concerned if he didn't know better.

"Yeah…" Jackson said.

"I'm coming to get you, where are you?" Stiles told him.

"I'm fine." Jackson said, "I don't need you to come baby me Stilinski."

Jackson blinked when he heard a strange noise come from the other side of the line. He wondered what was wrong. Stiles's breathing sounded shallow, like he was in pain from something.

"What's wrong?" Jackson asked.

"Do you really care?" Stiles countered.

Jackson wanted to say that he did. He wanted to know why Stiles was upset, to see if he could do something to make that pain go away and he wasn't sure why. He finished off the ninth beer and opened the tenth.

"Not really," Jackson said, not even knowing why he was doing it, why he couldn't just say what he really wanted to. He was so fucked up.

"If you don't want me to come get you and take you home, if you don't care what I'm upset about, why did you even fucking call?" Stiles asked, voice strained as it came through the phone.

"I don't know," Jackson admitted, "I needed to hear your voice, I wanted it to be like you were here with me."

Jackson choked back tears when he said it. He was insane. He had no idea what possessed him to even say that. There was a long pause on the line before Stiles said anything else.

"Tell me where you are and I will be," Stiles said, "if you want me to come get you, come sit with you, whatever it is you want I'll do it, you just have to tell me where you are Jacks."

Jackson hiccupped as he spilled some of the tenth beer on himself. He took a longer drink for courage. His voice was shaking as he explained to Stiles where he was.

"I'll be there soon." Stiles said.

Jackson finished the tenth beer and reached for the eleventh. He just held it though, he didn't open it. He wanted to save the last two for once Stiles arrived. He wanted to get a towel out of his lacrosse bag and wipe the beer off his mouth and neck and the tears from his face before Stiles arrived but the car was too far away. He rolled over onto his stomach grasping his lacrosse stick with one hand and pulling it to his chest, clutched the tenth beer in a tight grip and began to wait. He tried to blink away more tears but he failed, just like he had failed at everything else recently.

 


	7. Keeping Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles retrieves Jackson from the park.

* * *

Stiles was nervous as he parked next to Jackson's car. It hadn't taken him that long to follow the directions Jackson had given him. He probably drove a little faster than was necessary. It was a gamble because his father was working late and all he needed to round out his shitty week was having his father pull him over when he was supposed to be at home preparing for the negotiations of his grounding in the morning.

The night air was chilly; he grabbed the blanket he had brought with him, if Jackson wasn't ready to move somewhere warm the least he could do was keep the blonde from freezing to death. The headlights of Jackson's car were on; he could see the boy lying on the ground in front of it. He dropped down onto the grass next to him.

"Heya Jacks, you still alive?" Stiles asked as he threw the blanket over Jackson's body.

"Unfortunately…" Jackson mumbled.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at the unopened bottle of beer that Jackson was clutching. It took him a few minutes but he managed to pry both the beer and the lacrosse stick out of Jackson's hands. The jock looked paler than normal; he was shivering under the blanket. He reached out a hand tentatively and felt Jackson's forehead, brushed the blonde hair as he felt for the guy's temperature.

"What're you doing?" Jackson asked.

"Just trying to see if you've got a temperature," Stiles explained, "Laying out on the ground drunk as hell in the cold isn't great for your health."

"S'cold," Jackson said, he turned on the ground and rested his face against Stiles's leg.

Stiles wasn't sure what to do exactly, so he just let Jackson do his own thing. He stroked the blonde hair under his fingers. Jackson made soft noises against Stiles's leg but he had no idea what they meant.

"You want me to take you home?" Stiles asked.

"No…" Jackson said, "I want to stay with you."

"Why?" Stiles asked, "You hate me."

Jackson sat up suddenly, he looked like he was going to be ill and Stiles almost scrambled away from him. He did not want to get barfed on. Jackson grabbed his hand before he could get away, Jackson's fingers felt like ice.

"I-I don't hate you," Jackson said, "I-I…"

Stiles looked into Jackson's pale blue eyes, wondered what was going on inside Jackson's head. He flinched slightly when Jackson leaned forward to rest his head on his shoulder. Jackson's breath was hot against Stiles's neck. He shivered and Jackson pulled the blanket up awkwardly trying to wrap it around the two of them. Stiles helped him get the blanket settled, he wanted to say something but he wasn't sure what it was that Jackson wanted to hear.

"I…" Jackson said, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"You and me both," Stiles said and let out a nervous laugh. "I don't think we should stay out here in the cold though."

"Your hands are warm." Jackson told him.

Stiles folded both of his hands around Jackson's, trying to warm the other boy up with his own body heat, still uncomfortably aware of Jackson's breath on his neck. Sometimes he hated his stupid body, hormones were such bullshit. He tried to will his dick to understand that Jackson wasn't interested in having sex with it, just trying to warm up. His dick obstinately refused to listen to him.

"We should go somewhere warm." Stiles suggested.

"Take me to your place," Jackson said, "just until I sober enough to drive home, I'll take a cab back here later."

"No that's stupid; I'll just bring you back to your car tomorrow. I'll take you home." Stiles said. He started to stand up but Jackson pulled his hands out of Stiles's and wrapped them around his waist, started rocking back and forth huddling his body in on itself.

"N-no…" Jackson said, "There's no one there. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"I could take you to Danny's, I'll call Danny and I'll drop you off at his place." Stiles said.

Stiles blinked when that seemed to make Jackson's mood worse. He ran his hand through his hair and licked his lips nervously. He wasn't sure what to do. Jackson started shaking his head negatively.

"No, please…" Jackson said, "I don't want to see Danny. He'll understand, he won't judge me, but I hate it when he sees me like this. I know it disappoints him even if he doesn't show it."

"Jacks…" Stiles said, "I'm sure Danny won't think of it like that. He's your friend."

"My only friend… just like you said. I'm all alone. Even when there are people all around me I'm alone. I make Danny sad, sad that he can't fix me." Jackson said, "No one can fix me."

Stiles reached out and turned Jackson's head so that they were looking into each other's eyes. He watched as Jackson rapidly blinked away the tears that were forming. This vulnerable Jackson was someone Stiles didn't know, hadn't seen, but he wanted to help him.

"Maybe no one can fix you because there's nothing wrong with you." Stiles said.

He wanted to kiss Jackson, but he'd made a promise to himself, he wouldn't kiss him until Jackson actually called him by his name. He wasn't sure why it was so important to him. It was just that Jackson called everyone by their last name except for Danny. Stiles didn't want Jackson to kiss 'Stilinski' that annoying kid on the lacrosse team. Stiles wanted Jackson to kiss 'Stiles', the boy who was trying to help him.

"Take me home with you, I'll sleep on the floor, I'll sneak out in the morning so your father doesn't know I'm there." Jackson said, "I promise. I just… I can't be alone tonight, not alone for another night."

"Ok Jacks," Stiles said, "I'll take you home with me. You're not going to be alone. We'll be together." Stiles reached a hand out and Jackson took it, he pulled Jackson to his feet and the boy stumbled slightly into him, Stiles was mostly holding him up, staggering under the boy's weight. "Oh man, your muscles…"

"W-what?" Jackson asked against his neck.

"You're muscles are too heavy, you should consider letting some of them shrink, for the sake of the people who have to carry you." Stiles grumbled.

"If I didn't have them would I still be too pretty to be out by myself?" Jackson asked as he pressed his lips lightly against Stiles's neck, against the mark that he'd made in the locker room.

Stiles almost dropped him in shock. His dick was definitely not listening to him anymore, it knew, it knew that Jackson did in fact want to have sex with him. It was interested in sexing Jackson back. There was no way that he was going to let any sex happen tonight, he'd just throw Jackson on his bed and then masturbate furiously until he got Jackson out of his system, then he'd take him back to his car in the morning. Then Jackson would forget any of this ever happened and Stiles could go to the way his life was before Jackson had turned it upside down.

"I'm going to find out why you won't kiss me," Jackson said, "I'm going to fix whatever it is so you will."

"Oh god…" Stiles mumbled, Jackson wasn't going to make that plan very easy. For now Stiles would settle for getting him into his jeep. He was panting by the time he got Jackson situated. He picked up the rest of Jackson's stuff, put it in the back of his jeep, and disposed of the empty beer bottles in a trash can nearby.

"Damn…" Stiles mumbled to himself, "I need to tell Finstock a real workout is dragging other lacrosse players around while their almost passed out from being drunk. I wonder if that would get him to buy us beer…"

Stiles tried to open the driver's side door of Jackson's car to turn off the headlights but it was locked. He went back to the passenger side of his jeep; Jackson was reclining in the passenger seat, stretched out with the blanket underneath him, wrapped around his shoulders. Stiles swallowed nervously. He needed Jackson's keys to get into his car and turn his headlights off.

"Jacks…" Stiles said, "Give me your keys so I can turn your headlights off."

Jackson mumbled something and the blanket slipped off him as he tried half-heartedly to get his hands into his jeans to get them. He failed and his arm fell uselessly onto his stomach. Stiles poked him in the side to try to get him animated again, he was too nervous to go fishing around in Jackson's jeans.

The blonde didn't react much, just made a negative sounding noise in his throat. Stiles held his breath and reached into Jackson's pocket, trying to ignore the suddenly interested noises that Jackson started making. Stiles was sweating and nervous, Jackson reached out a hand and ran it along Stiles's neck as he looked in Jackson's other pocket for the keys. He finally got them and pulled away from Jackson's grasping hands. He made sure the boy was fully in his jeep before closing the door, ignoring Jackson's nonsense babbling about Stiles's skin being so warm.

He turned off the lights of Jackson's car and made his way back to his jeep. On the way home Jackson's hands kept drifting onto Stiles's leg, gently pawing at the denim over his thigh. Eventually Stiles gave up on pushing his hand off and just held Jackson's hand instead.

"Better…" Jackson mumbled.

Stiles tried to ignore that too, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it.


	8. Drunk Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson fails to communicate effectively while drunk.

* * *

Jackson thought the ride home was going to cause him to be sick. Stiles kept pulling over and checking on him. Jackson was relatively sure that Stiles was more worried about him hurling in his jeep than Jackson's health, but sometimes, when Stiles was rubbing soothing circles over his back as he leaned against the passenger side door he thought he might have been wrong.

His stomach lurched when Stiles's jeep hit the bump to get in the driveway. His head was buzzing, his nerves felt like they were vibrating. He was in that stage of drunk where everything was just quivering, every part of his body.

"We're here," Stiles said, "You don't need me to carry you inside right? I don't think you're muscles have gotten any smaller."

Jackson leaned back against the seat, stretched his legs out as much as he could in the little space he had. It was more legroom than his Porsche had at least. He needed some water, that would help… probably.

"M'good," Jackson said.

"Does that mean your good or your stretching was good?" Stiles asked.

Jackson let his head fall in the direction of Stiles's voice. "Yes," he mumbled, "Take me inside and put me to bed."

Stiles laughed and opened the driver's side door. Jackson thought Stiles closed it louder than was strictly necessary. Cold air rushed over his skin when Stiles opened the passenger door.

"You're a pushy little drunk you know that right?" Stiles asked.

Jackson slumped forward and managed to get one leg out of the jeep. His other leg wasn't working right. He slapped his hand down against it to try to wake it up. He'd never get noticed on the field if one of his legs stopped working.

"M'not even gotten pushy yet. Savin it till we get upstairs." Jackson said.

"I don't even know what that means, but the way you drunkenly slurred it was so hot." Stiles said. Jackson didn't think he was being serious though. Stiles was being a dickhead again.

He managed to get his other leg out of the jeep and slumped forward. He probably would have hit the ground if Stiles hadn't caught him. The little guy only staggered a little bit under his weight. He smelled good; Jackson felt one of the guy's arms. He had some muscle even if he wasn't ripped.

"Smell good," Jackson said, his tongue wasn't working right, it must have taken a break the same way his leg had. "You… you smell good."

Stiles grunted a little and tried to pull Jackson up so that he was supporting some of his own weight instead of just leaning on him. Jackson's feet flailed about a little until the ground stopped shaking and trying to knock him down.

"You smell like beer," Stiles told him. "Maybe like dirt and grass too, were you rolling around on the ground before I got to the park?"

"S'on account of all the beer," Jackson slurred, "an the dirty grass."

Stiles laughed. It made Jackson smile, he liked Stiles's laugh. Stiles took a step toward the house that was getting further away. Jackson blinked and tried to make it stop moving. Stiles staggered sideways.

"Little help here buddy." Stiles said, he pulled one of Jackson's arms over his shoulder and tried to drag him toward the house.

"Y'smell good," Jackson said. He thought Stiles should know.

Stiles laughed again, it came out a little wheezier than normal. Jackson wondered if he was nervous too. Jackson would be nervous about taking a boy to bed.

"Yeah," Stiles grunted. "We covered that ground already, thanks."

"S'ok to be nervous," Jackson said, "n'gonna bite you… again… less you want that. Want that?"

Stiles leaned Jackson against the door. He was trying to get his keys out or something. Jackson leaned forward and almost fell but Stiles pushed him back against the door. Jackson liked it when Stiles pushed him around.

"I'm good," Stiles said, "We can just pass on the bites. You know what we could do though?"

"Kiss?" Jackson said, he was looking into Stiles's eyes. They were great. They were like, things that were brown and great. Like… the earth, the earth was made of dirt and dirt was brown and the earth was great because Stiles was on it too, and had brown eyes. He leaned forward to try to kiss Stiles but the guy pushed him back against the door again. His head banged slightly on the wood but it was all good. He had drunk armor on. Doors couldn't hurt him. Only Stiles could hurt him right now.

"Not so much no," Stiles said, "What we can do, is get you upstairs, undressed and into bed."

"Fuck yes!" Jackson said, he caught Stiles's shirt in his hand and tried to tug him closer. He couldn't wait for Stiles to take his clothes off. He was going to take Stiles's clothes off, he was going to do it with his teeth.

He looked up because Stiles wasn't making any noises. Sometimes, he wished that Stiles didn't make any noises because his voice could be really grating, but other times, locker room times, he loved the noises he made, but Stiles never didn't make noises at all. Stiles's skin was red. His ears were red, his cheeks were red, his neck was red. Jackson pulled on the hem of Stiles's shirt to see if the pale skin on his chest was red too but Stiles swatted his hands away.

Jackson loved Stiles's red skin. It was red like… it was red like awesome things were red. Like, cardinals, because cardinals could fly, and flying was awesome. Mars was red too, and Mars was out of this world. Stiles was out of this world.

"Yer out of the world," Jackson told Stiles.

"I don't know what that means either really, not when you say it all… drunk like that." Stiles said.

Stiles was confusing. Why couldn't he ever just say stuff plainly. He got excited when Stiles pulled him forward again, he thought they were finally going to kiss but he just ducked his head to the side and Jackson's chin came down a little hard on Stiles's shoulder. That didn't hurt either, on account of still having his drunk armor on.

Stiles didn't want to kiss him right now, he didn't know why, but Stiles's neck was right there. He strained his own neck to get a bit closer and bit down on the soft flesh again. Stiles made a little whimpering noise and used his head to try to push Jackson's head away. Jackson was shocked when Stiles succeeded. When had Stiles become so strong?

"S'strong," he told Stiles.

"Ok bitey," Stiles said, "I'm not letting you mark the other side of my neck up either. Let's get inside."

Inside sounded good, Stiles had said that inside he was going to get Jackson naked and in his bed. He wondered if Stiles was going to drag his nails down his back and pull his hair and fuck him like in the shower. Jackson shook his head, one of those things hadn't actually happened yet. He couldn't remember which one though.

He let Stiles turn him around. "Fuck yes," he gasped out when Stiles pressed him up against the door. He didn't need to wait until he was inside. Right here was good enough for him. He tried to get his hands to unbuckle his belt but it was hard. Belts were hard. Jackson was hard. Everything was hard, he wondered if Stiles was hard.

"Yeah," Stiles said, "Whatever you think is going on, it's totally not, I'm trying to point you in the direction of the bed."

Stiles got his hand on the back of Jackson's neck. Jackson fucking loved it. "Let's do it." Jackson said. He was ready to get into bed, into Stiles's bed, naked.

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say that whatever 'it' you are talking about, is not the 'it' we're actually going to do tonight." Stiles said.

Jackson grinned; Stiles had just said they were going to do it at some point. He couldn't wait. He wanted Stiles to kiss him first though.

"Can't wait," Jackson told Stiles, "Gonna be so good, m'make it good fer you."

Stiles let out a nervous laugh and said, "Okay, but if you want it to be good for me we have to get you undressed in bed okay?"

Jackson perked up at what Stiles had said. He used his hands to straighten himself up in the doorway. After he was fully on his feet he used his hands to straighten himself out in his jeans. Stiles made a gasping noise behind him. It was so fucking good.

"Okay, and also Jacks?" Stiles said.

Jackson fucking loved that name. "Hmm," Jackson said, "What?"

"Don't touch yourself," Stiles laughed nervously, "We'll leave that for once you get naked upstairs too ok?" Stiles mumbled something else under his breath, Jackson thought it might have been something like 'going to hell for thinking'.

Jackson took a step into the house, stumbled but managed to not fall. He looked around and realized he'd never been in Stiles's house before. He didn't know where he was supposed to get naked at. "Don worry," Jackson said, "Not going to hell, just like I told Danny, if you wanna bang guys, or be banged by guys it's totally cool. I'didn tell Danny yet that I wanted to be banged by a guy. Not any guy, just you. S'cool, be who you are."

Stiles wasn't making any noises again. Jackson looked back over his shoulder. For a second he thought there were two Stiles. That would have been fucking hot. He could bang one while one was banging him, so hot.

"That would have been a combination of both supportive for Danny, and flattering, if you weren't piss drunk." Stiles said.

Jackson tilted his head at Stiles; he was talking too fast again. "Where's the bedroom?" Jackson asked.

"That would be the only sentence you could say without slurring wouldn't it?" Stiles asked.

Jackson thought the answer to that question might be yes, but he wasn't sure so he just kept quiet. He hated being wrong, he'd rather not say anything. He watched as Stiles shut and locked the door they'd come through.

The next part was hazy, he thought Stiles was leading him up some stairs, or dragging him across speed bumps. He wasn't sure. He was sort of crawling. It was hard. He was still hard too. So many speed bumps on the way to the bedroom, he laughed to himself. He was poetic as fuck.

"Okay," Stiles said sounding out of breath once they got to the top of all the speed bumps. "How about you just crawl and I'll pull you along like a dog." He leaned down and grabbed the back of Jackson's shirt.

Stiles was kinky, he wasn't sure how he felt about that but if it's what Stiles wanted, Jackson wasn't going to argue. He barked a little, to see if that's what Stiles wanted him to do.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Stiles said, "Did you really just bark?"

Jackson sat back on his heels, looked up into Stiles's face. He reached out with surprising speed and accuracy and caught Stiles's belt buckle in his hand. Stiles emitted a strangled meeping sound like the fast bird cartoon.

"Where's my leash?" Jackson asked.

"Oh my god," Stiles said and tried to pry Jackson's fingers off his belt. "You did not go there, and worse, you did it without slurring that too." He slapped at Jackson's hands. "Jesus you're like a fricken jaws-of-life or something."

Jackson didn't know what Stiles was talking about. It was gibberish. Stiles needed to learn to enu… enunc… speak clearer.

"Jacks," Stiles said, "Let go so we can get into bed."

Jackson let go of Stiles's belt. He wanted to get in bed. He staggered to his feet. He wanted to get in Stiles's bed. It was going to be great, and soft. Like… like soft things that were great.

He let Stiles lead him to his bedroom. Stiles's bed was small, that meant they were going to have to be very close. He couldn't wait.

"Naked time?" Jackson asked.

Stiles let out another nervous laugh. Jackson liked Stiles's laugh. He wandered over towards the bed. He sat down, got one shoe off but the other was hard. Jackson raised his foot towards Stiles.

"This one's hard," Jackson said. He didn't tell Stiles that he was hard too. That would be embarrassing.

"Okay…" Stiles said, "So, this is happening."

"Fuck yes it is," Jackson said. He watched Stiles get red all over again.

Stiles untied and removed his other shoe for him. Stiles was on his knees right in front of Jackson, so good, it was so good. He fumbled at his belt again.

"Too hard too," Jackson said.

"I'm going to pretend like you're talking about your belt." Stiles said. "And I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please…" Jackson begged, "It's tight." Jackson watched Stiles roll his eyes, but he grinned when Stiles scooted a little closer and got between his legs. So good. "Fuck yes," he said as Stiles's fingers started working on his belt. Stiles's hands were shaking and accidently brushed against the aching needy length of Jackson's dick. Jackson whimpered at the brief contact, even through his jeans and underwear. The belt came undone and Stiles sprang away from him like he'd been burned.

"Well, that happened too." Stiles said.

Jackson leaned forward and pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor between his legs. He fell back onto Stiles's bed and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and boxers and pulled them both off, his hips jutting into the air and his dick slapping onto his stomach as he finally freed himself.

He still had his socks on. They were too far away to deal with. He scooted up further in Stiles's bed, ran his hand over his dick to relieve some of the pressure.

"Oh god," Stiles said, "You're naked, in my bed, jerking off."

"Not naked," Jackson said, he wiggled his socked feet at Stiles as he pulled on himself again. Stiles made a little strangled noise that Jackson loved. "Help me?" he asked as he waved his feet at Stiles again.

"Yeah that's not going to happen. You seem to have everything… well you seem to have everything well in hand," Stiles said.

Jackson liked the way his hands were making him feel, he grunted and tugged at himself harder. "Come on," Jackson said, "I'm waiting for you."

"You… you do that. Uh…" Stiles paused, "You keep up the good work, I'll be right back, I need to ah… get something ok?"

"Is it my leash?" Jackson asked.

"Oh fucking no you did not just say that," Stiles said as he darted out of the room and closed the door.

Jackson tugged on himself playfully waiting for Stiles to get back. His hands were so warm on his skin. He reached up and grabbed one of Stiles's pillows and pulled it under his head. That was better, he twisted himself harder. That was better too. He reached over with the hand that wasn't busy making himself feel good, keeping him ready for when Stiles came back and grabbed one of the blankets he was laying on. He pulled it over and breathed in the scent of it. Stiles's bed, Stiles's room, it was so good. His hands were good.

"Fuck, yes… Stiles…" he grunted as he came all over his stomach and chest.

He wondered when Stiles was coming back… he wondered if he could get hard again. He wondered why his eyelids were so heavy. He fell asleep, wondering if Stiles had misplaced his leash.


	9. Drunk Say What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's experience was a bit different from Jackson's.

* * *

For most of the ride home Stiles thought Jackson was going to be sick. He really didn't want Jackson to throw up and taint his baby's wonderful smell, but he was more worried about Jackson. Sometimes the blonde would emit a strange gargling whine of pain or nausea. Stiles pulled over whenever it happened; rubbed Jackson's back and hoped he'd start feeling better.

Jackson made the must pitiful sound when Stiles pulled into the driveway, it made him want to rub Jackson's hair and tell him he'd be alright. Stiles had been really drunk before but he didn't think he'd ever been that bad. He was relatively sure Jackson was ten beers drunk based on the bottles he'd found in the park. That didn't include anything else the guy may have had before he started in on them. So far the night was bittersweet. Jackson was at times vulnerable and almost affectionate, the rest of the time he was a hot mess.

"We're here," Stiles said, "You don't need me to carry you inside right? I don't think you're muscles have gotten any smaller."

Stiles watched Jackson stretch out in the seat as much as he could, long muscular legs vibrating for a moment. Jackson let out a little shiver, pale blue eyes blinking and licked his lips. Stiles held his breath. Jackson was gorgeous, drunk as fuck, but gorgeous nonetheless.

"grrrrooood," Jackson said.

Jackson was drunk enough to make up words apparently. Grood? Was that like the glorious offspring of great and good? Jackson didn't look so grood if that was the case.

"Does that mean your good or your stretching was good?" Stiles asked.

Stiles licked his lips as Jackson turned to look at him. There was something there, swirling in his pale blue eyes but Stiles didn't know for sure what it was. Stiles wished it was fatigue that had his eyelids half closed and not intoxication. Jackson could be a dick, but Stiles wouldn't mind waking up and looking into those soft sky-blue depths a few mornings in a row. It was a shame that Jackson was a dick.

"Nnggh," Jackson mumbled, it was sort of adorable. "Take mrgh side, wanna gren bed."

Stiles couldn't help but laugh as he got out of the jeep. He shut the door lightly, he hated when people banged stuff around when he was drunk. He walked around the jeep to help Jackson out. The blonde shivered as cold air hit his body, Stiles tried really hard not to notice Jackson's hard nipples through the thin shirt he was wearing. He wasn't very good at it though.

"You're a pushy little drunk you know that right?" Stiles said.

Stiles watched Jackson shift and shake trying to get out of the jeep. He tilted his head as Jackson started smacking his leg. Yeah, Jackson was fucking gone. It was sort of hilarious.

"Mime push yer stairs, then psh rund." Jackson mumbled.

It wasn't even English; it was like something out of a really bad movie. Stiles grinned. Jackson had said 'mime', he would have looked hilarious in one of those outfits, and the way he struggled trying to get out of the jeep made him seem like he was stuck in one of those invisible boxes.

"I don't even know what that means, but the way you drunkenly slurred it was so hot." Stiles said.

He blinked when Jackson scowled at him. He had been trying to poke a little fun, bring a little levity to the situation but he couldn't miss the pain that flickered through Jackson's eyes. Whatever Stiles had done to upset him seemed to give him the motivation to get out of the car.

Stiles already had his legs braced and his arms ready to receive the party gods' offering of Jackson's flailing body. He wondered if Scott ever felt like this around him when he was half way through a bottle of Jack Daniels. Jackson started feeling his arms though, pawing at him, and Stiles knew for certain he'd never done that to Scott. Well he was like… eighty percent certain. Scott never had revealed the secret to how an asthmatic kid managed to get so ripped even before he'd gotten bitten by a crazy werewolf.

"Smell grood," Jackson said. Stiles laughed as Jackson stuck his tongue out and wagged it back and forth like he was some sort of inebriated snake checking the air. "Yer smell grood."

He grunted and tried to get Jackson to put at least a little of his weight on his own legs. He tried to adjust his grip on Jackson as the guy's legs flailed about against the ground like he was doing the worst version of the hokey pokey ever.

"You smell like beer," Stiles told him. "Maybe like dirt and grass too, were you rolling around on the ground before I got to the park?"

"S'beer," Jackson slurred, "arn dir grass."

Stiles laughed. Jackson smiled at him when he did it. Jackson had an amazing smile, especially because right now it seemed genuine and not mocking. He wanted to get him inside, get him a glass of water, and get him into bed. Jackson's skin was cold, Stiles didn't want him to get sick.

"Little help here buddy." Stiles said, he pulled one of Jackson's arms over his shoulder and tried to drag him toward the house.

"Y'smell grud," Jackson said.

Stiles laughed again but he was panting under the strain of carrying most of Jackson's weight. He needed to work out more, he hated working out though. He wondered if 'grud' was better than 'grood'. He couldn't think of any words that started with 'ud' though so he didn't really have any frame of reference.

"Yeah," Stiles grunted. "We covered that ground already, thanks."

"S'o narvous," Jackson said, "n'bite gain… y'want that."

He wasn't even going to try to figure that out, all he got was 'bite'. Jackson was sort of bitey. He hadn't really thought that would be the case until he met Nega-Jackson in the locker room, the Jackson from the weird porno universe.

Stiles turned Jackson's body and got his back against the door. Stiles fished in his front pocket for his keys. Jackson wobbled and Stiles looked up at him. Stiles grinned as Jackson began to slump forward. He pushed the blonde back against the door and held him there.

"I'm good," Stiles said, "We can just pass on the bites. You know what we could do though?"

"Kiss?" Jackson said.

That one came through loud and clear and it caused a little more pain than he would have expected. Jackson leaned forward to try to kiss him. Stiles pushed him back with a bit more force than he intended. He did want to kiss Jackson, but not like this, not when he was drunk and stupid and still hadn't called him 'Stiles' yet.

"Not so much no," Stiles said, "What we can do is get you upstairs, undressed, and into bed."

"Fuck yes!" Jackson said.

Stiles jumped in surprise when Jackson's hand caught hold of his shirt. Jackson was licking his lips like he was about to take a bite out of a juicy steak. Stiles was kind of getting the impression that Jackson thought of him like a piece of meat, a dorky, short haired, awkward, not-at-all-ripped-like-every-person-he-knew steak.

Still, it was insanely flattering that Jackson, who was beautiful in a way that would make movie stars jealous, seemed to be into him. Jackson was gorgeous in a way that made the word itself seem ugly and not good enough to describe the blonde haired blue eyed Adonis that was Jackson Whittemore

Jackson watched him and for the first time that night Stiles saw something beyond drunkenness in his eyes. He didn't know how to describe it fully but it was hungry and deep. It made him shiver more than the cold air they were standing in, made the heat in his face stand out even more. He was glad Jackson wasn't sober enough to realize how badly he made Stiles blush.

Jackson tugged on his shirt and leaned forward. It was ridiculous, like he was trying to look down a girls shirt to see what kind of bra she had on. Stiles smacked him away, got his shirt free of Jackson's grabby hands.

"Yer ott da whorl," Jackson told Stiles.

Yeah, there was nothing he could do with that, there wasn't anything Babblefish could do with that either. "I don't know what that means either really, not when you say it all… drunk like that." Stiles said.

Stiles had enough of being outside in the cold. He pulled Jackson towards him so that he could get him turned around and pointed at the door he'd unlocked. Jackson fell forward again like some awkwardly falling bird. Stiles turned away in case Jackson was going for a pro-wrestler head-butt. He would have laughed at the thought of Jackson trying to club him and take him like some sort of caveman but before he could Jackson bit wickedly into the side of his neck.

Jackson's mouth was searing hot on Stiles's wind chilled skin. Stiles whimpered under the force of it, Jackson's teeth clamped down on the side of his neck, the shock of it went right down his spine and settled in his groin. He gasped and turned his head against Jackson's to try to push him away, couldn't spare one of the hands he was using to keep Jackson's body from falling on him. He was trying desperately not to notice the hard ridges of muscles under his fingers as he pushed Jackson's body back. He wasn't doing a very good job of that either.

"S'storng," Jackson said.

"Ok bitey, I'm not letting you mark the other side of my neck up either. Let's get inside." Stiles adjusted his grip on Jackson's body and spun him around against the door.

His hand was on the doorknob when Jackson hissed out, "Fuck Yes."

Jackson gasped it sounded wet and dirty and Stiles fucking loved it. He was going to hell. There was no way he should be thinking about anything like sex right now but Jackson was all over him, revved up and practically begging him for it.

Stiles's mouth dropped open in shock as he watched Jackson's hands fumble down in front of him. He heard the jingling of metal, like Jackson was trying to get his belt undone.

"Yeah," Stiles said, "Whatever you think is going on, it's totally not, I'm trying to point you in the direction of the bed."

Stiles was glad no one could see him, every inch of his skin had to be red. Jackson, up against the door, it was insanely hot. He was a teenage boy not a saint. He put his hand on the back of Jackson's neck and gripped him tightly as he opened the door slightly to keep him from falling.

"s'do et." Jackson gasped.

That almost sounded like French, but like, someone had too much wine French. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say that whatever 'it' you are talking about, is not the 'it' we're actually going to do tonight." Stiles said.

"carn wit," Jackson slurred, "s'grood, sm'mak it good fer ya."

Stiles let out a nervous laugh as he said, "Okay, but if you want it to be good for me we have to get you undressed in bed okay?"

That seemed to get Jackson's attention. His body shot up straighter in the doorway. Stiles noticed Jackson's hands working at his waist in front of him. Oh god, he was going to hell, Stiles was going to hell because he was pretty sure Jackson was feeling himself through the jeans he was wearing and Stiles's dick wanted to know more about the situation.

"Okay, and also Jacks?" Stiles said, his voice sounded strained in his own ears.

"Hrmph," Jackson said, "Whaaaa?"

"Don't touch yourself," Stiles laughed nervously, "We'll leave that for once you get naked upstairs too ok?"

Jackson touching himself was too much, Stiles wasn't going to be able to sleep without having wet dreams about Jackson looking so wanton in the doorway, running his hands over himself. Stiles shook his head and muttered, "I'm going to hell and I'm going to deserve it."

Jackson stumbled into the house, pushing the door the rest of the way open in his haste. Stiles smiled, Jackson looked so cute looking about trying to figure out where he was, or maybe what he was doing. Stiles was seized by the urge to run his hands through Jackson's hair and point at the stairs. He didn't do that, there was still a chance he wasn't going to hell.

"Don worry," Jackson said, "Not going to hell, just like I told Danny, if you wanna bang guys, or be banged by guys it's totally cool. I'didn tell Danny yet that I wanted to be banged by a guy. Not any guy, just you. S'cool, be who you are."

Stiles blinked and froze after walking in the door. That had come out relatively clear. Jackson just didn't want to have sex with Stiles, he wanted Stiles to fuck him. Stiles's dick started trying to nudge its way through his jeans to get to Jackson and give him what he wanted; it was onboard for the plan. Jackson looked back at him, fucking leered at him and whatever he was thinking Stiles's dick was already agreeing to it.

He tried to keep his voice calm and even, to not let any of what he was feeling come out in his voice as he said, "That would have been a combination of both supportive for Danny, and flattering, if you weren't piss drunk."

"Where's the bedroom?" Jackson asked. He tilted his head at Stiles, his voice was remarkably clear.

"That would be the only sentence you could say without slurring wouldn't it?" Stiles said.

Jackson's eyes went from hungry to vulnerable in the space of a single blink. The rapid shift hit Stiles in the gut. He had no idea what he'd said that could have provoked that reaction. He was really sorry for whatever it was.

He wanted to get Jackson some water, but he figured he might as well try to get him up the stairs at first. He maneuvered Jackson towards the stairs and tried to get him to walk up. Jackson face planted right at the very bottom. Stiles winced in sympathy as Jackson's breath rushed out at the brutal sounding impact. He wondered if Jackson's ribs or chest were going to be bruised in the morning.

Stiles climbed over him, got ahead of him on the stairs and tried to lead him up. Jackson was having none of it; he was doing some awkward combination of slither and crawl as he made his way up. Jackson may have been agile and quick on the lacrosse field, but on Stiles's steps he was like a floundering serpent-hippo hybrid.

Jackson laughed when they were almost at the top of the stairs. Stiles wiped sweat off his forehead and panted raggedly. He was glad someone was having a good time. Jackson was on his hands and knees seemingly unable to get up once they were finally at the top of the steps.

"Okay," Stiles panted, "How about you just crawl and I'll pull you along like a dog." He leaned down and grabbed the back of Jackson's shirt.

Jackson didn't move at first so Stiles used his grip on the back of Jackson's collar to yank him forward a bit. Stiles almost lost his shit when Jackson emitted some strange approximation of a barking dog. It was better than the strangled cat noise Scott had used to try to call to the Alpha in the school, but it was still a freaking  _bark._

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Stiles said, "Did you really just bark?"

Stiles blinked as Jackson sat back on his haunches. Stiles licked his lips nervously, Jackson looked like he was about to start begging for a treat. He was about to say something when Jackson lunged at him and snagged his belt. He squealed, he wasn't proud of it but it happened. He just hoped Jackson would be too drunk to remember later.

"Where's my leash?" Jackson asked.

"Oh my god," Stiles said. He tried to pull Jackson's hands off his belt. Jackson's voice had been so clear when he asked. Stiles's dick tried to convince him to stop pushing Jackson's hands away. Stiles's dick had no conscious or morality; it wanted him to go to hell. "You did not go there, and worse, you did it without slurring that too." He slapped at Jackson's hands. "Jesus you're like a fricken jaws-of-life or something."

Jackson stared up at him blankly. It was like he was trying to figure out what Stiles was saying. What a laugh riot that would be, if somehow he and Jackson were basically having different conversations because they couldn't understand each other.

"Jacks," Stiles said, "Let go so we can get into bed." He wasn't proud of saying that either but maybe it would motivate Jackson.

It worked like a charm. Jackson let him go and stumbled to his feet. He looked like an eager puppy. If Jackson had a tail Stiles imagined it would have been wagging excitedly. He led Jackson down the hallway to his room and opened the door. Jackson licked his lips and looked at Stiles.

"Naked time?" Jackson asked.

Stiles laughed nervously, why was it only things like that came out perfectly clear? His dick throbbed in his too tight jeans. It seemed to know the answer. It wanted to explain it to him in excruciating detail. Stiles wanted to let it.

Jackson stumbled into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. Oh god, Jackson Whittemore was in his bed. His life was officially an episode of the Twilight Zone, the version that apparently ran on Cinemax late at night to tempt young men into touching themselves.

Stiles watched Jackson manage to get one of his shoes off. His fingers picked and fumbled at the other as he made frustrated adorable little grunts of exasperation. Eventually he gave up and looked at Stiles for help.

"S'one hard," Jackson said. Jackson's face got red, the flush of skin creeping up his neck like he was embarrassed about something. Jackson Whittemore everyone, captain of the lacrosse team, victim of too tight shoe laces, it would have been funny if it wasn't so adorably sad.

"Okay…" Stiles said, "So, this is happening."

"Fuck yes it is," Jackson said.

Stiles tried to ignore the heat in his face as he got down on his knees in front of Jackson. His hands were shaking as he untied the shoe and pulled it off. He wanted to look away as Jackson's hands fumbled at his belt again but he was only human, he wasn't some paragon of virtue. Jackson was so obviously hard under his jeans. Stiles licked his lips and tried to ignore his own aching erection.

"Too hard too," Jackson said.

"I'm going to pretend like you're talking about your belt." Stiles said. "And I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please…" Jackson begged, "It's tight."

Stiles rolled his eyes, he wondered if Jackson had ever tried this on anyone else. He probably didn't need to, most people would just say 'fuck yes' if Jackson asked them to have sex. He wanted to say it too, but he didn't want to be used, didn't want to lose his virginity to Jackson while the guy was in a drunken haze.

"Fuck yes," Jackson gasped when Stiles started undoing his belt. Jackson thought Stiles had a wicked mouth? Jackson's mouth seemed like it had been crafted for porn, to speak dirty things, to twist and suck and oh-god-why-was-he-doing-this.

His hands started shaking and he accidently brushed against Jackson's cock with his knuckles. Fire shot right up his arm and down into his groin. Stiles's dick strained, it was thankful for the teasing taste of Jackson's junk but it was ready to get on with it. Stiles's dick had no shame. Jackson let out a practically pornographic moan at the brief contact. The belt came undone and he almost rolled across the floor in his haste to get away from Jackson.

"Well, that happened too." Stiles's voice came out in a high pitched squeak. He needed a cold shower. He needed ten cold showers.

Stiles licked his lips as Jackson pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. Stiles's mouth fell open when Jackson flopped back on the bed and started getting undressed. Stiles's dick jumped at the sound of Jackson's cock slapping against his belly as it came free of the clothes he'd been wearing.

Stiles bit his lip to try to distract himself. Jackson was sexy as fuck. He wished Jackson wasn't drunk, wished Jackson would just say his name so that he could get down on his knees and worship his godlike body.

Jackson scooted up further in the bed and started pulling on his dick. That was the last of the proof Stiles needed. God didn't want him in heaven; he'd sent Jackson to tempt him into having sex with him while he was drunk so that Stiles would go to hell. It was a cruel world.

"Oh god," Stiles said, "You're naked, in my bed, jerking off."

"Not naked," Jackson said as he wiggled his feet. He was still wearing his socks. He was still jerking himself too, the movement alternating between forceful and teasing. "Help me?" Jackson asked as he wiggled his feet again.

"Yeah that's not going to happen. You seem to have everything… well you seem to have everything well in hand," Stiles said.

Stiles needed to get himself in hand. Stiles's dick twitched against his fly again in agreement. Hopefully just jerking off thinking about Jackson jerking off wasn't too bad. No one expected him to be a saint right?

Jackson grunted and tugged at himself harder. "Come on," Jackson said, "I'm waiting for you."

Stiles almost came in his pants. He wasn't proud of that either but what was he supposed to do. Jackson had like… porno super powers. Stiles was just a defenseless teenager, there hadn't been a teenager built yet that could resist that sort of invitation. He took a step forward. Guilt seized him by the throat even as his dick whined in protest at Stiles's complete lack of balls.

"You… you do that. Uh…" Stiles paused, his throat was too tight, "You keep up the good work, I'll be right back, I need to ah… get something ok?"

"Is it my leash?" Jackson asked.

Holy-fucking-shit-no-that-did-not-happen, that was it, too much, he was out.

"Oh fucking no you did not just say that," he said, then fled from the room. He didn't walk, he didn't hurry, he fucking fled. He almost tripped over his own feet as he rushed into the bathroom.

He slammed the door closed and leaned against it. It wasn't going to be very graceful and he didn't respect himself much for it but he didn't care. He didn't have time for his belt, didn't have time to take his clothes off. He just sank down to his knees as he unzipped his pants. He pulled his aching cock out and started fisting it furiously.

Stile groaned out and slumped forward. His skin felt like it was on fire. He was on his knees, dick in one hand and rubbing feverishly at his stomach with the other. He slumped forward so that his head was resting against the bathroom tile. He was on his knees, face against the floor tugging on himself hard enough that it was almost too good, right on the edge of painful. He gasped and whimpered, rubbed his forehead against the cool tile and pulled and twisted mercilessly. He came hard, body shaking with Jackson's name on his lips.

His dick thanked him, even though it still thought he was a pussy for not fucking Jackson hard enough to break his bed into a thousand tiny pieces.


	10. Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson gets caught trying to sneak out.

* * *

Jackson tossed and turned. Agony speared through his brain, refused to let him continue to sleep. He blinked. He wasn’t sure where he was. His neck itched, like something had been wrapped around it.

He sat up and rubbed away the sensation. “What the fuck?” he whispered. He wasn’t in his room. There was a picture of a large anime character on a snowboard; the figure had an orange and white striped scarf wrapped around its neck. He looked to the right. There was a pair of handcuffs hanging from the wall. That was unacceptable. He rubbed his neck again, felt like he’d been having a dream about someone dragging him around by a leash.

Jackson looked down at himself. He was naked except for his socks. That was also unacceptable. He didn’t even want to think about what was dried on his stomach. He scrambled out of the bed; it took a few minutes to locate his clothes. He used his boxers to try to wipe his stomach and chest. It didn’t really help. There were clothes and papers haphazardly scattered across the room, most of the shirts were t-shirts or button downs.

“Fuck…”

It was Stiles’s room. Memories started to trickle back to the front of his mind. The park, his car was still at the park. He’d been drunk. Stiles had picked him up. Stiles…

“FUCK!”

Jackson remembered. He remembered how much of an idiot he’d been, remembered some of what he’d said and done. There were parts that were hazy but there was enough there that he had a pretty good idea of what he’d done.

He pulled his jeans on, laced up his shoes and headed for the door. He froze before touching the handle. Stiles could be out there. There was no way he could face that. He looked around the room for another option. There was a window. He had to get out. He opened it and looked down. It seemed like an easy enough climb.

Jackson tucked his boxers into the pocket of his jeans and tossed his shirt out the window. He felt his car keys in his pocket. He climbed out the window and shimmied down the side of the house. He bent over to pick up his shirt, draped it over his shoulder as he walked around the house buttoning up his pants and buckling his belt.

A car door closed. He looked up, right into the eyes of Stiles’s father. The only thing between them was the cruiser the man had just gotten out of. He prayed for a bolt of lightning to strike him from the clear sky.

Jackson opened his mouth but he had nothing to say. He tugged his shirt off his shoulder and pulled it over his head. His boxers were still hanging partially out of his front pocket but there was no way he was going to draw any more attention to them. The sheriff’s expression was carefully schooled neutrality. He’d probably already seen them.

“You’re Jackson right?”

Jackson nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. He wondered what the sheriff was thinking.

“Can I give you a lift home?”

Jackson nodded again. He’d have to call someone to take him to his car later. There was no way he was going to tell the head of the police he’d left his car in the park because he was too drunk to drive.

The sheriff got back into the car. Jackson stood awkwardly not sure if he was supposed to get in the front or the back. Stiles’s father leaned over and opened the passenger side door. Jackson slid into the seat and closed the door.

“So…” Sheriff Stilinski said. “You and Stiles, uh, worked out the problem that caused the fight?”

Jackson swallowed the groan that tried to bubble out of his chest. “Yes, sir,” he said, “We got most of it figured out. It was my fault.”

Silence settled over the car as the sheriff pulled out of the driveway. “It takes two to…” the sheriff paused and the awkward factor in the car skyrocketed. “You know… fight.”

Jackson wanted to die. He prayed for a bus to run the red light they stopped at and put him out of his misery. No bus came, the light turned green. They continued on their way. Jackson didn’t bother to ask if the sheriff knew where he lived.

“Well, I know you’re not my son, but I’m just going to say this once,” the sheriff hesitated for a moment. Jackson felt like he was going to throw up. “I hope you boys were safe. I’ll talk to Stiles about this later. I’m not going to say anything to your parents but you probably should.”

Jackson was definitely going to throw up. He put one hand over his mouth and tried to roll down the window. The sheriff pulled over. He must have noticed Jackson’s heaving. The car wasn’t even fully parked when Jackson opened the door and stumbled out. He went down onto his knees and vomited onto the shoulder of the road. He gagged at the smell and it made him retch. He crawled a short distance away taking deep breaths and scrubbing at his mouth with his hands.

The sheriff got out of the car. This was the worst day of Jackson’s life. He’d rather go to jail for underage drinking than leave the sheriff with the impression that he’d had sex with his son.

“We didn’t-"

“Let’s just get you home. Your parents are probably worried unless you told them where you were.” The sheriff’s voice gave nothing of his thoughts away. Jackson shook his head to confirm that he’d not told his parents anything. He took the napkins the man offered him, wiped his mouth and hands off.

The sheriff helped him to his feet. Jackson tucked the soiled napkins into the pocket of his jeans that his boxers weren’t hanging out of. It didn’t matter what he said. There was no way anyone would believe that nothing happened. Jackson wasn’t sure he believed nothing happened. There were still some hazy moments. He had a vague recollection of being on his knees in front of Stiles with his hand on Stiles’s belt.

The rest of the ride back to his house was silent. Jackson left the sheriff to whatever he was thinking and tried not to drown in self-loathing. He was such an idiot. He’d tried to hit on Stiles while he was drunk. What the fuck had he been thinking? What was Stiles thinking? Memories of Stiles’s voice lashed against his brain.

 _‘Whatever you think is going on, it's totally not.’_

 _‘Also Jacks… don’t touch yourself.’_

It was a nightmare. He’d embarrassed himself, thrown himself at Stiles. He’d ended up naked, begging, and Stiles had just walked out. He must have been disgusted. Jackson remembered trying to kiss Stiles again. He’d tried in the park; he’d tried at the house. Stiles had turned away or pushed him away every time. He was such an idiot for thinking there was something there.

He’d never be able to face Stiles on Monday. He couldn’t stand the thought of looking into those brown eyes and seeing disgust and pity. Stiles probably hated him.

Jackson got out of the car when it pulled into his driveway. “Thanks…” he mumbled. The sheriff nodded at him and pulled away.

Once inside Jackson closed the door as quietly as he could. He didn’t know if his parents were home but he didn’t want them to see him in the state he was in. His parents were going to be disappointed when they found out what happened. He’d let them down. They were probably going to be ashamed of him, maybe hate him. He already hated himself but for some reason, the thought of Stiles hating him hurt the most. He stumbled into the first floor bathroom, he felt like he was going to be sick again.


	11. Father & Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his father talk about stuff in the only way they can.

* * *

Stiles was having a good dream, a very good dream. He ground his hips into the couch, chewed on his lower lip. His fingers curled around the cushion he was using as a pillow, nails digging into the material. He was so close, so very close.

"Stiles, you awake?" His father's voice was an avalanche of ice. It crushed the happy thoughts in his mind. Embarrassment obliterated everything but the physical evidence of his dream. He'd almost had a wet dream and he couldn't even remember exactly what it had been about.

"Err…" he mumbled. He stayed face down on the couch. Stiles didn't need his father to know he had morning wood. That was not something they were ever going to talk about. "Yeah…"

He looked around but his father wasn't standing in the living room. His voice was coming from the kitchen, along with the smell of burning eggs. That was bad; his father trying to make breakfast meant that his punishment for fighting at school was going to be brutal.

Stiles cast a glance towards the stairs, he wondered if Jackson was awake yet. He sat up and tried to will his erection away. He coughed; his nose started to run. He grabbed a napkin off the coffee table and wiped at this face.

"Can you come in here?" his father asked.

"Sure." Stiles got to his feet, he felt a little light headed. His throat was raw. "Perfect…" he mumbled. He was getting sick, the very thing he had tried to protect Jackson from.

Stiles stumbled into the kitchen still wiping at his nose with the napkin. He glanced at the table on his way through. There was a box of condoms visible through a plastic shopping bag. He stopped and got closer. Was his dad seeing someone? There was also a bottle of hand lotion in the bag. He glanced back towards the stairs.

"Oh no… oh god no…" Stiles backed away from the table like the bag contained a live cobra. If Jackson was standing in the kitchen with his father he was going to stab himself in the chest with the first thing he could get his hands on. He tried to take a deep calming breath but it turned into a wet rattling cough. He stumbled into the kitchen terrified of what he'd find.

"Morning son," his father looked over his shoulder for a moment before going back to murdering the eggs in the skillet.

"Sup?" Jackson was not in the kitchen. Stiles sighed with relief that he was not going to be forced to do himself bodily harm. There was probably a totally reasonable explanation for the shopping bag on the table. It was hopefully a reason he would never learn.

"I wanted to…" his father paused before continuing his assault on what was probably intended to be their breakfast, "I wanted to talk about some stuff."

Stuff? Stiles didn't want to talk about stuff. Stuff was terrible. Stuff was awkward. There didn't need to be any talk about stuff. Stuff never needed to be a topic of conversation.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked. He hoped that it was going to be about school, about the fight, about how there was an imminent alien invasion, about how his father had found out that werewolves were real and that he had won the lottery. He wanted it to be about anything other than condoms or hand lotion.

His father poured the "eggs" out onto a plate. Stiles didn't have enough emotion to mourn their loss. He'd eat the blackened mess; he'd eat a thousand blackened messes if his father's next words were simply 'never mind'.

"It's about the fight." His father turned to face him. Stiles was about to let out a sigh of relief but he didn't have a chance before his father said, "And about Jackson. I took him home this morning."

Stiles closed his eyes. He could barely smell the scorched eggs through his stuffed up nose. He waited to hear the trumpets that would signal the end of days. The only noise was the clatter of a fork being dropped onto a plate. Stiles opened his eyes to see his father heading out of the kitchen and towards the table in the adjacent room. The table that hinted at the years of intensive therapy he was going to have to go through if his father talked to him about sex.

He threw his napkin away, grabbed a paper towel and blew his nose. He'd gotten into a fight at school, he'd had another guy jerk off in his bed, he was getting sick, and his father was about to make some attempt at talk about sex. His life was ridiculous. He wished Scott was trying to gnaw his face off. That would be so much more bearable.

Stiles washed his hands. He poured himself some orange juice and started making toast. There was only so much delaying he could do. The back door had never looked like it wanted to be opened so much. He wondered what his chances were of surviving on the streets.

"Stiles!" his father called.

He gathered up his excuses and headed out of the kitchen. He sat down at the table opposite his father and prepared himself for the worst. The eggs he started to shovel into his mouth were terrible; there was no amount of salt, pepper, or cheese that could have made them taste like anything but scorched dreams and smoldering ash.

"Jackson seems like an okay kid," Stiles's father paused as if to collect his thoughts. "He said the fight was his fault."

Stiles spit eggs out of his mouth in shock. They sprayed across the table and the plastic shopping bag. He shook his head; there was no way this could get worse.

"I…" he paused to collect his own thoughts.

"Just let me get this out okay?" his father asked.

Stiles nodded and wiped at his face with another paper towel. He wanted a drink but he was afraid anything he put in his mouth would soon be on the bag of condoms too. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the connection. He hated his brain sometimes.

"I'm always going to love you."

Stiles opened his eyes. His father was looking down at the plate in front of him. He wanted to tell his father that nothing had happened. He wanted to say anything to end whatever was about to happen before it began.

"I just want you to be safe." His father pushed the bag of across the table towards him. Half chewed eggs dropped onto the table as the bag moved.

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. He tried to open his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He closed his eyes again. He heard the chair across from him move; a moment later a strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him out of the chair. Powerful arms wrapped around his shoulders, an awkward pat on the back followed.

"Always," his father said, "I'm always going to love you. Even if you get in fights or listen in on my phone calls. No matter who you decide to be. I'm going to love that person."

Stiles felt tears well up in his eyes. He buried his face in his father's shoulder. "I know, thanks dad."

"I said it before but I want you to know I miss talking to you," his father's arms tightened around him. "You can come to me about anything okay?"

"Yeah dad," Stiles said as he patted his father on the back.

Stiles didn't know what his life was becoming. He had a werewolf best friend. He'd been really close to kissing his best friend's rival on more than one occasion. He didn't know if he was bisexual, if he was gay, or if he was just into Jackson. He didn't know anything except that his father loved him. He wondered if his mother would have been okay with the situation too.

"Dad?" he asked trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "Do you think mom would have…" he couldn't finish. The words came out a choked sob.

His father's arms tightened around him again. "Your mom loved you. She was great at a lot of things but the thing she did better than anything else was love you. Don't forget that."

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he held onto his father. It didn't matter that he was getting sick. It didn't matter that Scott was a werewolf. It didn't matter that he didn't know what he was doing. His dad loved him; his mom had loved him. That was enough. He had time to figure everything else out.

"Dad…" he pulled out of his father's embrace and wiped at his face with his hands. "We'll talk more but never about this again. Okay?" His father nodded. "Can we go get McDonalds? Your eggs are terrible."

His father laughed. "Okay, but I'm not getting oatmeal."

Stiles smiled and blew his nose again. His father could have a McMuffin as long as he never gave him condoms ever again. "Okay," he said. "I think I need some Dayquil too."

"We'll stop by the store, but you'll have to go in and pick it up. I don't know that I'm ever going to be able to walk into that store again."

Stiles laughed, his father laughed along with him. He grabbed the coats and handed the bigger one to his father. They walked out and got in the car in companionable silence. His father didn't bring up Jackson or sex again. He didn't argue when his father ordered a hash brown with his breakfast. They'd both been through a lot.


	12. Unlikely Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson finds out Stiles is sick.

**  
**

* * *

Jackson stood impatiently in the school's parking lot waiting for a light blue jeep. He needed to apologize before school started, he couldn't face Stiles in class without clearing the air between them. Jackson glanced at his phone, he didn't have much time left before he'd be late.

Jackson caught sight of Scott chaining his bike up. He would know where Stiles was. As much as it pained Jackson to ask Scott for anything, he had no other choice. He made his way over towards the bike rack.

"Where's Stiles?" Jackson shifted his weight, tried to keep any worry out of his voice.

Scott's brown eyes regarded him curiously. "Why do you care?"

Jackson sighed. He didn't have the energy to get in a fight. "Come on, McCall, just tell me."

Scott sniffed at the air, tilted his head as if he was listening to something. "Why are you nervous?"

Jackson resisted the urge to grind his teeth. He tried to think of something to say, something other than the truth.

"He's sick," Scott said, "He asked me to pick up his assignments for the day."

"Sick? Is it bad?" Jackson felt guilt creeping over him. Stiles was sick because he'd spent Friday night hauling his drunk ass around outside.

"I'm not sure how bad it is." Scott tucked his thumbs through the straps of his backpack. "He texted me, told me not to worry and to ask if I would bring him his stuff. He didn't go into detail."

Jackson turned away and headed towards his car, away from the school building.

"You're going the wrong way, Jackson." Scott pointed towards the school when Jackson looked back over his shoulder. "The school is that way."

"I'm not going to school. I've got something else to do." Jackson didn't wait to see Scott's reaction. He walked to his car, his stomach twisted in a knot. He wanted to make sure Stiles was alright, wanted to take him something to help him feel better.

He pulled out his phone, hesitated before dialing the number. If he called ahead of time Stiles would have the chance to tell him not to come. If he showed up at his house Stiles probably wouldn't turn him away. He wasn't sure if Stiles even wanted to see him.

He climbed into his car. Thoughts of what he was going to say, how to apologize, raced through his head. He wasn't sure what was wrong with Stiles so he wasn't sure exactly what to get. For all Jackson knew, Stiles already had all the medication he needed. He could take him food, but if he was sick he might not want to eat it.

Jackson decided to just get everything, whatever Stiles didn't want he could just throw away or save for later. He headed to the grocery store on the way to Stiles's neighborhood. The staff looked at him like he was insane as he piled different types of medicine into his basket. He didn't care, the cost was irrelevant. If Stiles started feeling better he'd forgive him for being such an ass, hopefully.

He added fruits, oatmeal, Gatorade, bottled water, and soups to his cart. It occurred to him that he knew almost nothing about Stiles. He had no idea what kind of food he liked, what he liked to drink, what his favorite things to do were. He'd gone to school with the kid for years and it was like he'd never really noticed him, never cared what he was doing. Now those were the only things he could think about.

Jackson barely had enough room in his car for all the stuff he'd bought. He tried to think of what he would say when he got to Stiles's house. It didn't occur to him until he was almost there that he had no idea if Stiles's father would be home. The thought almost made him pull a U-turn.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, kept going. He breathed a sigh of relief when the driveway to the house was empty. He gathered up all the bags from his car. Barely managed not to drop anything ringing the doorbell. No one answered the door. He sighed, rang the doorbell several times in a row.

It opened, Stiles stood there, pale and shaking. He was wearing pajamas and a hooded sweatshirt. He tucked his hands into the pockets, ducked his head slightly so the hood obscured his eyes from Jackson.

"There's no disaster relief charity going on," Stiles said.

Jackson blinked at him for a second. He didn't know what to say. He shook the bags slightly. "These are heavy."

"That's why you have so many muscles." Stiles tried to say more but turned his head to the side and unleashed a series of body shaking coughs.

Stiles's skin was pale; sweat ran down the side of his face. He looked miserable, he sounded miserable. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and wiped at his nose with a tissue.

"May I come in?" Jackson asked. "I brought you some stuff." Jackson raised his arms slightly, trying to draw attention back to the bags that were starting to make his wrists fall asleep.

"I'm not dying." Stiles stepped back into the house, gestured towards the kitchen.

Jackson vaguely recalled the layout of the house. He glanced at the living room, noticed Stiles had taken up residence on the couch in front of the television, the coffee table was a biohazard, discarded tissues and half eaten food covered the surface.

"Go get comfortable, I'll bring you some stuff."

"Thanks…" Stiles turned away, walked into the living room and fell face first onto the couch.

Jackson could hear the wracking coughs coming from the living room. He unpacked the bags quickly, placed items where he thought they should go. He rummaged through the cabinets looking for a teapot.

He walked back into the living room. Stiles looked terrible. He'd turned onto his back; he kept zipping and unzipping his hoody. He didn't have a shirt on underneath it. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. Jackson walked over and placed his hand on Stiles's forehead. He tried to ignore how Stiles flinched away from him at first. "Where's your teapot?"

"It's in the pantry right next to the crumpets we serve during Sunday brunch." Stiles grinned up at him.

"How about a washcloth, you have one of those right?" Jackson grinned. He wiped the sweat from Stiles's fevered forehead with the back of his hand.

Stiles turned his face into Jackson's knuckles, rubbed against them. "You're hands are so cool." He let out a small sigh of relief. "Washcloths are in the upstairs linen closet, right next to the bathroom."

"I'll go get one." Jackson stood up but Stiles caught his hand before he walked away.

"You didn't have to do this." Stiles's brown eyes looked up at him. "Thanks, Jacks."

Jackson swallowed. Despite what he'd said he was starting to grow fond of the nickname. "It's cool." He pulled his hand free from Stiles's clammy grasp.

He went upstairs, retrieved the washcloth and headed back to the kitchen. He turned the water on in the sink, filled up a glass mug and wet the washcloth. He put the mug in the microwave. Once it was hot he dropped a teabag into it, stirred, and added some honey. Jackson grabbed some vapor rub, an empty bag, the cup, and the washcloth.

Stiles had gone back to watching cartoons. Jackson set about cleaning up the coffee table. He washed his hands in the kitchen before returning to the living room. Stiles was eyeing the mug of tea suspiciously.

"That smells terrible," he said. He turned his head away from Jackson to unleash another fit of coughs

"It'll ease some of the tightness in your throat. Don't be such a princess." Jackson handed him the mug.

Stiles sat up to sip at it. He made a face before handing it back. Jackson set the cup back on the table, used the washcloth to wipe at Stiles's forehead.

"You're an okay nurse," Stiles said, a soft sigh escaping his lips at the cool sensation on his skin.

Jackson grabbed the small container of vapor rub, scooped out a generous amount with his fingers. "This'll help too."

Stiles's face turned red as he watched Jackson spread the medicine over his fingers. He reached up with a shaking hand to unzip his hoody again. Jackson reached out and started to rub the medicine onto Stiles's chest.

"You're turning red," Jackson whispered as he trailed his fingers along Stiles's flushed skin.

"Fever, totally the fever…" Stiles wouldn't meet his gaze.

Jackson grinned as he continued spreading the medicine. It wasn't really a sexy situation, but he was enjoying touching Stiles, comforting him. He liked the way Stiles's breathing became a little more relaxed, how his eyes fluttered closed. Jackson liked taking care of him.

"Feeling any better?"

"It's warm in here, right?"

Jackson rubbed the medicine up over Stiles's collarbone, ran his thumbs along the base of Stiles's neck. "Maybe…"

"Can I have something other than tea?" Stiles took deep breathes, brought his hands up to hold onto Jackson's wrists.

"If that's what you want, sure." Stiles wasn't keeping him from massaging his chest, just holding onto him like he wanted to make sure he wasn't going anywhere. Jackson smiled; maybe things weren't quite as bad as he thought. "You'd have to let me go if you want me to get it."

"I don't want it right now." Stiles let out a soft sigh. "You're hands feel really good."

This was better than an apology; maybe Stiles understood what he was trying to do without having to say it. "I'll get whatever you want whenever you want it okay?"

"That sounds good, just keep up with the medical massage, that's enough or now." Stiles's brown eyes looked up at him, searching for something.

Jackson wasn't sure what Stiles was looking for. He locked his blue eyes onto Stiles's brown ones, hoped that Stiles would be able to find it, find the things that Jackson had inside but didn't know how to say yet.


	13. Chicken Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson fails to say the one word he needs to. Stiles reacts badly.

* * *

Stiles resisted the urge to zip up his hoody. Jackson was sitting at the far end of the couch, watching the television like it was the only thing in the world that was interesting. Stiles was on his back, head propped up by a pillow, his feet were inches from Jackson's leg. He stretched one sock covered toe to press lightly against the blonde's hip.

Jackson glanced down at Stiles's foot. He twisted his hands in his lap. Stiles toe poked him again. Jackson turned to look at him. Stiles pulled his hood down further to cover his eyes. It was hot again. He fanned himself with his open shirt. He tilted his head back so he could spy on Jackson without being seen. Blue eyes regarded him, Jackson's mouth was slack, looked like he couldn't figure out what the hell Stiles was doing. Stiles wished he knew what the hell he was doing.

The room smelled like chicken soup. Jackson had set the bowl down on the coffee table, but hadn't been successful in getting Stiles to eat any of it. Chicken soup was for little kids. Stiles wasn't a little kid. He was… other stuff.

"Are you going to eat this?" Jackson leaned forward to pick up the bowl. He ran his hands over the sides of it. "It's still warm. I bet it's good."

Stiles snorted, poked Jackson again with his toes. "I'm not a little kid." Stiles pouted at Jackson, decided that it wasn't a little kid thing to use his best weapons. "I don't want it."

Jackson sighed and set the bowl down. "What do you want then?" He turned on the couch and brought one leg up, used his shin as a shield against Stiles's prodding. He flicked Stiles's big toe.

"A foot massage…" Stiles figured he'd just ask for ridiculous things until Jackson left. He didn't want the blonde to see him all sick and gross. He'd much rather have faced the jock after he felt better.

Stiles gasped when Jackson turned to sit fully on the couch, crossed his feet on the cushion in front of him. The blonde reached out and grabbed Stiles's feet, pulled them into his lap. He pressed his thumb against the foot Stiles had been poking him with.

The world had become insane, Jackson had become more insane. Stiles hadn't even thought that was possible. His toes curled as Jackson massaged the inner arch of his foot. Jackson was so many different people it made his head spin. He'd seen Porn Universe Jackson. He'd seen Super Asshole Jackson, Vulnerable Jackson, and Drunk as Shit Jackson too. He'd seen Nurse Jackson, now he was seeing Massage Therapy Jackson, who came with an incredibly wonderful Kung Fu grip. Massage Therapy Jackson was pretty awesome.

He wiggled his toes happily as the blonde kneaded the pads of his foot, switched to press firmly into the one that had been feeling left out. Stiles was waiting for Jackson to open his mouth and say something utterly infuriating.

"Does this feel good?" Jackson kept up his tender massage. "It's not too hard right?"

A swing and a miss, Jackson failed to say anything infuriating. Stiles chewed his lower lip. He reached out and grabbed a tissue, wiped at his runny nose. Stiles must have been far sexier than he realized, either that or Jackson had a fetish for sick people.

"It's awesome," Stiles said. He tilted his head back, peeked at Jackson from under the edge of his hood. Maybe it wasn't sick people; maybe Jackson had a thing for feet. Stiles wasn't sure how his feet rated on the sexy meter.

Jackson's eyes were focused on Stiles's ankles. Occasionally Stiles was able to catch a small flash of blue as the blonde's gaze raked up over his body. He licked his lips to see if Jackson was watching his mouth, resisted smiling when Jackson licked his own lips as if mirroring him.

Stiles shivered, the room must have been getting colder. He zipped up his sweatshirt, tried not to fidget too much as Jackson worked on his feet. He wondered where the aliens had hidden the real Jackson's body. He was onto them, knew their plan. He figured aliens who replaced assholes with overly concerned clones were a fantastic people. He wanted to play miniature golf with them sometime, wanted them to take him to their leader.

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles reached up and pulled his hood down further, fully obscuring Jackson from view. He nibbled on his pinky nails as he held the fabric in place.

He heard Jackson take a deep breath, let out a low sigh. "I don't know, I guess I feel responsible."

Upstanding Citizen Jackson joined Stiles's ever growing collection. The dark haired boy pulled his fingers out of his mouth, raised the hood enough so he could peer at Jackson with a single eye. The blonde had moved onto Stiles's heel, kept working his fingers as his eyes darted back and forth.

"I wanted to thank you," Jackson said. The words sounded like they were being pulled out of his mouth by a fishhook. "You didn't have to help me. I wouldn't have helped me. You put up with me even though I was a monumental douche."

' _Well played, Apologetic Jackson, well played,'_  Stiles thought.  _'You are both crafty and inscrutable.'_ No matter how Stiles looked at it he couldn't see Jackson's angle. He could be anywhere he wanted, have anyone he wanted. Instead he was giving Stiles a foot rub. The world was an insane place. He wondered if he'd died at some point.

He chewed his lower lip again. Aside from the being sick thing it wasn't a half bad day. That would mean that his idea of heaven was a foot rub from Jackson's talented fingers. He thought maybe the fever had boiled his brain.

"You're not talking," Jackson whispered. His hands stilled.

"No one's ever complained about that before," Stiles said. He grinned, pushed at Jackson's fingers with his toes. "First time for everything I guess."

"How are you feeling?" Jackson ran his hands over the tops of Stiles's feet. "Better?"

Stiles took stock of his situation. His face was still leaking. His skin felt too hot. He unzipped his hoody, used it to fan some cool air against his chest. His head ached. The chicken soup still smelled gross. The television wasn't playing anything that sounded awesome. Jackson's hands felt good. He felt it was a wash; Jackson was making good headway into turning his day into something that wasn't completely sucktastic.

"My head hurts a little." He idly wondered if Massage Therapy Jackson could help him out with that too. That might upgrade him into something else. Magical Fingers Jackson? He grinned. That sounded slightly dirty. He was too sick and gross to be thinking dirty things.

"Sit up, I'll be right back." Jackson pushed Stiles's feet away, climbed up off the couch. "Water or orange juice?"

Stiles sighed, he didn't want Massage Therapy Jackson to go away. "Water, half a glass, the rest ice please." Stiles pulled his hood off entirely, the cool air on his head helped ease the pain. He glanced toward the kitchen.

Jackson was looking back over his shoulder, a puzzled expression on his face. "You're oddly specific in your requests."

Stiles grinned at him. "I know what I want and how I want it." He blinked as soon as the words left his mouth. There were so many ways that could be misconstrued when he was undressed enough for Jackson to see his nipples. He thought he caught a flash of pink coloring Jackson's features as the blonde continued into the kitchen.

The room spun slightly as Stiles sat up. He wiped at his runny nose, gripped the back of the couch with his free hand. "Stop being so tricksy!" He was onto the world too. He wondered if the aliens could clone it and replace it with a non-spinny world. He imagined they'd have to do it really fast, like a magician pulling a table cloth out from underneath a fine dining room set, otherwise all the people would fall down.

"How is bringing you a glass of ice water being tricksy?" Jackson reached out, ran his knuckles against Stiles's forehead. "I think you should take some more medicine."

Stiles sighed; Nurse Jackson was back on shift. He wanted Massage Therapy Jackson to come back. He reached out and took the pills that Jackson had spilled out of one of the many bottles on the coffee table. He wondered if this was all an elaborate plan of Sociopath Jackson. Perhaps the blonde was trying to get him to overdose on medicine. He turned his face into Jackson's hand when the blonde ran a thumb along his cheek.

"Did they teach you to take away headaches at massage therapy school?" Stiles looked up at Jackson, cranked his puppy dog eyes up to full power. He felt sort of bad taking advantage of Jackson's kindness, but he felt like he deserved it for not taking advantage of him when he was drunk.

Jackson smirked. It was sort of an adorable smirk. "Get down on the floor."

Stiles didn't want to punch this version of Smirking Jackson in the face. Dickhead Jackson was the only Jackson who Stiles felt the need to bash. He watched the jock push the coffee table back from the couch. He sighed when Jackson got a grip on his arms.

"Moving is hard." Stiles whined. He knew he was whining, but couldn't help it. He wanted to go back to sleep.

Jackson sighed. "Don't be such a pussy, Stilinski. I'll make you feel good, just sit on the floor."

Stiles reconsidered the list of Jacksons he was willing to punch in the face. Can't Say Stiles Jackson was number one on his list of unacceptable Jackson variations. He wanted to kick Can't Say Stiles Jackson in the junk. He suddenly didn't care that Jackson was trying to make him feel better. He got to his feet, swayed unsteadily.

"You're such an asshole!" Stiles clenched his fists at his sides. He glanced at the clock, it was getting late in the afternoon. Jackson had been taking care of him for hours. He felt bad for his sudden outburst. He looked at the blonde, took an involuntary step back at the angry hurt on Jackson's face.

"Fuck you, Stilinski!" Jackson turned away, grabbed his keys off the dining room table.

Stiles wanted to say something, he didn't know what though. His head was still pounding, Jackson was making him crazy. He wasn't normally so rude to people who were nice to him. He took a step forward, raised his hand to grab Jackson and keep him from leaving.

Jackson didn't wait, sidestepped around Stiles. He walked out the front door and slammed it closed. Stiles gaped at the door. It was getting cold again. He zipped up his hoody. His stomach grumbled. The smell of chicken soup still filled the room. Stiles grabbed the bowl, took it into the kitchen to warm it in the microwave. He figured if he was going to act like a little kid he should eat little kid food. Once it was ready he carried it back to the living room. He sat with his back against the edge of the couch, stared at the place Jackson had spent most of the day.

Stiles ran his hands around the sides of the bowl the way Jackson had. He wondered when the aliens had replaced him with Ungrateful Asshole Stiles, maybe he didn't want them to take him to their leader after all. He spooned the soup into his mouth. He wasn't sure if he liked the soup because it was good or because Nurse Jackson had made it. He'd need to think of how to apologize to the blonde, he'd forgive the aliens if they could turn him into Awesome Apology Stiles.


	14. Home Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson deals with an unexpected visitor.

* * *

Jackson cranked up the volume on his stereo. Angry white kid music blasted out. He wasn't even sure who the band was, didn't care. He just wanted something loud to drown out what he was thinking. His parents were out of town on business, just another normal night. He was still furious that Stiles had called him an asshole. There were a lot of times where he  _was_  an asshole, but today hadn't been one of them.

He heard a clicking noise. He blinked and looked around. He wasn't sure where it had come from. The phone on his dresser buzzed. He ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. He'd considered calling Danny, but he didn't really know what to say. He didn't want to have an awkward conversation about how he thought he might be gay over Stiles Stilinski. Talking about maybe being gay with Danny wasn't the hard part, telling him that it was Stiles that was making him think it though, that was a killer.

Stiles had been a real dick. Jackson had rubbed his feet. Rubbed his fucking  _feet,_  but it still wasn't good enough. What did Stiles want him to do? Get down on his knees and beg forgiveness for having come onto him while he was drunk? It was such bullshit. Jackson could have anyone he wanted, anyone except Stiles. He didn't even know why. He didn't know why he wanted him, didn't know why he couldn't have him. He was starting to think he didn't know anything.

The clicking noise came again. He used the remote control to turn up the volume on the stereo; it was loud enough that it almost hurt his ears. The neighbors were too far away to hear it; the houses in his neighborhood weren't stacked on top of each other. Loud was the order of the night. He considered grabbing some vodka from the liquor cabinet downstairs.

Alcohol had already gotten him into enough trouble. He wasn't an alcoholic, he just liked drinking. He didn't need it though. The phone buzzed again. Jackson ignored it. It was probably someone asking him why he'd skipped school, why he'd skipped lacrosse practice. He didn't really care. McCall could carry the team for a single day; Jackson didn't need to be there every second.

In the brief moment of pause between songs he heard a scratching noise, like something grating on the outside of the house. He muted the stereo. The sound didn't repeat at first. His stomach grumbled. He glanced at the clock. It was just before midnight, too late to eat anything, not if he wanted to stay in shape.

He rolled out of bed, walked over to the window. There was a muted crashing noise, then a resounding thud. He opened the window; saw someone's foot sticking out of the bushes below him.

"Great," he said. "That's just what I needed, someone wanting to rob a seemingly empty house in the richest part of Beacon Hills."

He closed and locked the window. He grabbed his phone, didn't even bother to check the missed call log. He dialed the police station. At least the police would respond quickly, perk of being rich. The line only rang once before someone picked up.

"Beacon Hills Dispatch," a female voice said.

"Hi, this is Jackson Whittemore. I think someone's trying to break into my house." He glanced at the clock on the wall. He hoped this wouldn't take too long. He figured he'd just pass out once the police carted away whoever was dumb enough to be prowling in the neighborhood.

"What makes you think that Mr. Whittemore?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. Grabbed his lacrosse stick, headed out of his room and down the stairs. He couldn't remember if he'd locked the door to the back patio that lead out to the pool. "I saw someone in the bushes beneath my bedroom window."

"I want you to stay calm," the woman said. "What's your address?"

"352 Ravencrest," Jackson said. The dispatcher had told him to remain calm. He was calm. He was offended that she thought sge needed to baby him, but he was calm.

"Are you the only person home?"

"Yeah, my parents are out of town." Jackson stopped by the front door, made sure the door was locked. The deadbolt was turned, everything secure. He walked through the hall that would lead to the back.

"Are all the doors locked? We're sending someone right away."

Jackson's grip tightened on his lacrosse stick. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He'd been calm. He stopped near the entrance to the kitchen. The dispatcher was making him nervous. Of course all the doors were locked, he'd come in through the back door. He wouldn't have left it unlocked.

"I think so," Jackson said. "How long before they get here?"

"Just a few minutes, I want you to remain on the line with me. Stay calm."

The thing about staying calm was that it was easier when someone wasn't telling you to stay calm. He craned his head around the corner. The back door was open.

"Fuck," Jackson said. He knew he closed the back door. There was no way he would have left it open like that.

"Mr. Whittemore? Is everything okay?" The dispatcher's tone didn't change. The fact that it didn't change made Jackson more nervous.

"The back door is open. I'm pretty sure I closed it." Jackson hefted his lacrosse stick higher, used his head and shoulder to hold the phone. He gripped the stick with both hands.

"Is there another room in the house that you can lock from the inside?"

Jackson considered the question; there were a lot of rooms in the house. He wasn't far from his father's study. He'd be able to lock that door. He took a step into the kitchen. There were two ways to get out of the room, besides the door that led outside. One was the entrance from the hall that he was standing at. The other led to the hallway toward the dining room. There was no one in the kitchen. He walked around towards the door to the patio. The floor was covered in leaves and dirt. He definitely hadn't caused that.

"Yes," Jackson said. "There is definitely someone in the house, there's dirt on the floor."

"Are you sure you didn't trail it in?"

Jackson wasn't sure if the dispatcher doubted him, or if she was just trying to keep him talking. If the dispatcher was trying to keep him from freaking out it wasn't working. There was no way he'd walk through the grass. Someone who had been in the bushes though, they'd have left tracks like that. He followed around the island in the middle of the kitchen. The intruder had gone into the dining room. The lights were off on that side of the house. He'd only turned on the foyer light, the kitchen light, and the lights on the way to his room.

The dining room would lead to a hall that would take the intruder to the foyer, then the staircase. The first floor was all hard wood. He tried to listen to the sound of steps. He heard an echo from the foyer. He swallowed. They could be circling around behind him. His heart started pounding harder; he felt like his blood was pounding in his ears.

"Mr. Whittemore?"

Jackson jumped; he'd almost forgotten the dispatcher had asked him a question. "I'm sure. I don't track dirt into the house."

"I want you to go to another room in the house, lock yourself inside. The police will be there shortly. The Sheriff wasn't far away from your neighborhood." The dispatcher still sounded so calm. At first Jackson had found it patronizing. Now it seemed a little reassuring.

The Sheriff, Stiles's dad was coming to his house. That was just great. At least he already knew where Jackson lived. He grimaced at the thought. First Stiles's dad takes him home thinking he'd had sex with his son. Now he was coming to rescue him from a burglar. How fucking embarrassing was that? Hopefully Stiles had clarified the situation; he didn't feel like facing an irate father who had a gun.

Jackson peeked around the corner to the dining room. There was dirt on the floor, it trailed for a short distance, but he couldn't see how far into the room's darkened interior. The china cabinet hadn't been opened. None of the expensive decorations in the room had been taken or moved. Was it a burglar after all? What if it was someone else? What if it was a predator?

Memories of being in the parking lot with Allison's father filled Jackson's mind. Memories of Derek cornering him in the locker room followed. What the hell was up with guys grabbing him and looking at his neck? There was no way he was going to let some creepy guy molest him without a fight.

"Are you in a safe location?"

Jackson's heart leapt into his throat. He gasped, he'd forgotten about the phone connection. "No, I'm on my way to one now." He turned back, headed through the kitchen toward the hallway. He turned the corner right when someone was coming through into the kitchen.

He screamed, he'd deny it later if anyone asked, but he screamed. The phone fell from his shoulder and hit the ground. He raised his lacrosse stick as he scrambled away from the person he'd almost run into.

"Holy shit! Why do people always attack me with athletic gear?" Stiles yelped.

Jackson felt like he was going to throw up his heart. Stiles was standing in his kitchen, covered in dirt, little sticks and leaves clinging to his clothes.

"Stiles! What the fuck?" Jackson let go of the lacrosse stick, picked up his phone.

"Hey, you said my name!" Stiles sounded excited. He tilted his head as Jackson picked up the phone. "Who are you talking to? Danny?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell?" Jackson put the phone back to his ear. "I'm sorry, it's a false alarm. It was a friend of mine."

There was a pause from the other side of the line. "I thought I heard yelling. Are you sure that everything's alright? There Sheriff is pulling onto your street right now. If someone is coercing you to say that everything is fine, remain calm."

Jackson sighed. He glared at Stiles. "No, no one is coercing me. I'll meet the Sheriff at the door."

"You called my dad? Jesus, you were really mad at me. I was trying to wave a white flag." Stiles pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket, waved it feeble in front of Jackson's face.

Jackson brushed past him, smacked the waving hand out of the way. He went to the foyer, unlocked the door. He turned to look at Stiles. He waved at him, gestured towards the stairs. He pointed up them.

Stiles stared at him blankly. Jackson sighed. He hit mute on his phone. "Idiot, go upstairs unless you want to see your father."

Stiles shook his head. "No way, I'm supposed to be home sick." He made a feeble cough; it quickly turned into an actual wracking fit of coughs.

Jackson rolled his eyes. Stiles was such a psycho. Jackson turned back to the door at the sound of a loud knock from the other side. Jackson gestured at the stairs with his head as he turned off the mute on his phone. Stiles scrambled up the stairs, dirty footprints from his shoes marked his retreat.

"The Sheriff's here," Jackson said to the dispatcher. He opened the door. Sheriff Stilinski was standing on the other side, one hand on his pistol. Jackson tried to think reassuringly to the Sheriff that he hadn't stolen his son's virtue.

"I'm at the Whittemore residence," Stiles's dad said into his radio. "Thanks for keeping him on the line."

"Yeah, thanks." Jackson felt awkward not saying anything to the dispatcher.

"I'm glad you're alright. Have a good night; don't hesitate to call us in the future if you have another problem."

Jackson ignored the fact that he hadn't had a real problem. The dispatcher seemed overly nice now that everything was cleared up. He sighed, that had been a really terrifying experience, and the dispatcher had done her best. It wasn't the police's fault that Jackson hadn't locked himself somewhere safe.

"You alright, Jackson?" Sheriff Stilinski peered over his shoulder and into the house. "May I come in?"

Jackson stepped out of the entryway and nodded. "Thanks for your help, it was just my friend. I forgot he was coming over."

The Sheriff glanced at the footprints leading up the stairs; cast his eyes down the hall and into the dining room also. "You sure everything's fine?"

Jackson nodded. "My parents are out of town on business. I guess I just got a little spooked."

"Do you often have friends coming over unexpected?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. He narrowed his eyes at the footprints again. "Does my son often come over to visit unexpected?"

Jackson's mouth fell open in shock. How had he known? Did he know Stiles's footprints? That was ridiculous. "How?"

The Sheriff smiled. He gestured for Jackson to follow him out onto the porch. Once they were outside Stiles's father pointed to the blue jeep parked down the street. Jackson sighed. They walked back inside.

"Stiles!" Sheriff Stilinski's voice commanded immediate obedience.

Stiles appeared at the top of the stairs looking guilty. "Dad? What a coincidence…"

Jackson covered his face with his hand. This was not happening. It was like Stiles's dad had discovered them in the middle of making out. It would have only been more awkward if they'd been in one of their vehicles in some secluded part of the woods. Jackson was going to strangle Stiles to death if his father didn't.

"Shut up, Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski said. "I thought you were sick."

"I am sick," Stiles coughed. To his credit it was probably legitimate. "Jackson was taking care of me earlier. I wanted to come by and thank him."

Stiles's dad looked at Jackson. He squirmed under the stare. He didn't know what to say.

"Thanks for taking care of my son." The Sheriff reached out, clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. "God knows he's a handful when he's sick."

" _Dad_ , you're embarrassing me." Stiles's shoulders slumped as he walked down the stairs. He covered his mouth as he began to cough again.

"Let's go, son. If you're well enough to meet your… boyfriend in the middle of the night, then you're well enough to go to school tomorrow. You can talk to him then." The Sheriff didn't wait for Stiles to respond; he grabbed him by the back of the shirt and marched him out of the house.

Jackson stared dumbfounded as they left. The Sheriff thought he was dating his son. Perfect. The day could not have been any weirder. He shut the front door and locked it. He went into the kitchen, closed and locked the patio door. He walked back to his room; he looked at his phone, glanced at the missed call list. They were all from Stiles.

"Son of a bitch," Jackson muttered. He'd have probably had a chance to talk to Stiles if he'd just answered his damn phone. He thought about the brief moment they'd had alone in the kitchen. Why had Stiles made a point of Jackson saying his name? He tossed his phone onto the dresser, collapsed onto the bed. Stiles was going to be the death of him. In a world where werewolves existed, where a monster had stalked him through the halls of their high school, Stiles Stilinski was going to be the one who killed him. The world didn't make any damn sense anymore. He buried his face in his pillow, he'd figure out what the hell Stiles had been talking about tomorrow.


	15. Eraser Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Stiles struggle through mixed signals.

* * *

Stiles fidgeted, nervous energy rippled through his muscles. The air in the eraser room was dry, the back of his throat tickled like he was going to start coughing again at any moment. He pulled out his phone and checked it for the hundredth time. He'd messaged Jackson to meet him in the eraser room before Chemistry. He had to talk to him before they went in. There was no way he was going to make it to the end of the class if he didn't.

Stiles needed to do something with his hands. It sucked that he was in the eraser room. There was nothing to do. He glanced at the erasers, narrowed his eyes at the cleaning machine. He wondered if anyone had actually cleaned an eraser with it. The machine was covered in a fine dusting of white, maybe it worked. Stiles shrugged. He picked up two of the erasers. He might as well do something useful while he waited.

His eyes darted from the machine to the two erasers in his hand. He knew that he really shouldn't have been considering clapping them together, but he thought the resulting cloud would probably be fun. Anything was more fun than standing alone in a closet that kids had probably lost their virginity in. He glanced at his backpack on the floor. He scrunched up his face, he was definitely going to wash it when he got home.

"Now or never," he whispered to himself. He clapped the bottoms of the two erasers together, little clouds of white burst through the air. He'd never actually done it before. It was sort of fun. Alternately, he may have just been high on cold medicine. Either way he was having a blast. He clapped them together a few more times.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles whipped around, dropped the erasers and covered his mouth with his hands in an attempt to keep his heart from leaping out of his throat. Jackson was pulling the door closed behind him. The blonde waved his hand in front of his face to keep the chalk dust drifting through the air away from him.

"Are you seriously cleaning erasers in the eraser room?" Jackson eyed him skeptically.

Stiles pulled his hands away from his face. He licked his lips nervously, got a mouthful of chalk dust for his trouble. He turned away from Jackson, coughed into his hands. Chalk tasted gross, he added it to the list of things he wished he'd never gotten in his mouth.

He turned back to Jackson. "Sorry," he mumbled. He wiped his hands on his pants, ignored the fact that they were probably going to be coated in a dusting of white powder. He really needed to learn to focus. If he'd just held off for another few minutes he wouldn't have looked like an idiot when Jackson came in.

The blonde tilted his head. A small smile curled his lips up. He let out a small chuckle. Stiles narrowed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to start the conversation with Jackson laughing at him. He hadn't wanted to start it covered in chalk dust either, but it seemed fate had conspired against him once again.

Jackson's chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. Stiles scowled at him. This was not going anything like he'd planned. It wasn't that he'd thought he and Jackson would skip Chemistry and end up making out or getting to second or third base. He thought that they might get to first base at least though. Jackson had finally said his name. Stiles wanted to know why, wanted to follow through on the promise he'd made himself.

"I'm sorry," Jackson said. He coughed into his hand to try to keep himself from continuing to laugh. "It's just that you're covered in chalk dust. It's all over your face."

Stiles blinked. He tilted his head back and stuck his lips out. It was only after the impulse was acted upon that he realized he couldn't really see his own lips. Jackson started laughing again, harder this time. Stiles sighed. He lifted up his t-shirt, used the bottom of it to wipe at his face. Jackson's laughing stopped.

Stiles glanced up; the blonde was looking at his bare stomach. Stiles looked down at his stomach to make sure it wasn't covered in chalk dust too. It was fine, totally clean and smooth aside from the light dusting of hair that led down into the top of his pants. He looked back at Jackson. Piercing blue eyes were locked onto the little trail. Stiles grinned. Sexy by accidental technicality was still sexy. At least he was back on the right track.

Jackson took a few steps forward, dropped his backpack onto the ground. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles's jeans, knuckles brushing against Stiles's treasure trail. Heat flooded Stiles's face. They hadn't gotten to first base yet, but Jackson looked like he was about to slide into whatever base a handjob was. Stiles wasn't sure of which bases were which when it came to guys. He needed to ask Danny.

Stiles shook his head. Jackson's knuckles were distracting him. He still wanted to talk, wanted to clarify what it was they were doing. He got his hands around Jackson's wrist, pulled the blonde's fingers away from his pants. In the furthest recesses of his brain Stiles acknowledged that his dick was calling him a pussy again. He sighed.

Jackson's blue eyes were looking him in the face. He wondered if this was how girls felt sometimes. A half smile pulled at his lips as he considered telling Jackson where his eyes were. The thing about that was that Jackson's blue eyes were just a little too distracting. They stole all his words and hid them somewhere.

Jackson pushed him back, crowded him against the wall. A warm hand cradled the side of Stiles's head. He leaned into the touch. Jackson was so close, leaning in slowly. Stiles wondered if he was over being sick, if he was past the communicable stage. It'd be horrible if he got Jackson sick, if they kept passing it back and forth. Then again if they were passing it back and forth it would mean that they were doing something that would be capable of passing it back and forth which had merits all of its own.

The hand that wasn't on his head gripped his hip. Stiles's skin felt like it was on fire. Memories cascaded over him of the locker room, of the bruising grip Jackson had used to hold him against the lockers while they thrust against each other. Stiles shook his head. He hadn't gotten to say any of his words. He licked his lips, Jackson was so close. Stiles could feel super heated puffs of air coming out of Jackson's lungs and going directly into his mouth.

He swallowed, tilted his head to the side to avoid the kiss. Jackson let out a low groan; his head came down on Stiles's shoulder. Jackson's hands tightened on Stiles's body, his body trembled for a moment as if he was fighting with himself to stay in place.

"Still not good enough?" Jackson asked. His voice was muffled into Stiles's shirt. "I don't know what else to do. I give up."

It was an odd statement, one that Stiles didn't fully understand. He reached up, tentatively placed his hand on Jackson's chin. He guided the blonde to look him in the face. Something skittered across Jackson's eyes. Stiles wasn't sure what it was, but couldn't miss that it looked painful.

"What?" Stiles asked. He didn't know what else to say.

"It's nothing." Jackson tried to pull away. "What did you want to talk about?"

Stiles didn't let him go. Jackson used his grip on Stiles to try to push him away. It didn't really work because Stiles was already against the wall. For a second it looked like Jackson was going to struggle. A wild look passed through eyes, like he couldn't stand the thought of being so close to Stiles anymore.

It wasn't a good look; Stiles didn't like it at all. He caught hold of Jackson's shirt, let go of his chin and grabbed his shoulder. He spun them, pushed Jackson up against the wall. He wasn't going to let Jackson go until he got everything he wanted to say out in the open. He was tired of the mixed messages he was getting. It was time to clear the air.

"What's wrong with you?" Stiles asked.

It wasn't what he'd intended to start with, but he figured they might as well start with the elephant in the room, which much to his dismay wasn't his status of never having been to whatever base heavy petting was between guys. He hadn't been planning to lose his virginity in the eraser room. He was classier than that, but he thought they might kiss a little. He was at the end of his rope. The tension between them was a little too thick.

"Nothing," Jackson said. Whatever Stiles had seen in his eyes was gone. The only thing there was a giant ice blue wall.

"Don't do that!" Stiles pulled Jackson away from the wall, pushed him back against it again. As far as bodily threats went it was fairly impotent. He hoped it was the thought that counted.

"Don't do what?" Jackson was still locked up in his mind, wasn't coming out to see if Stiles wanted to play anymore.

Stiles groaned. "Why are you acting like this again? One second your fingers are trying to dig their way into my pubic hair, the next you're acting like you weren't just trying to kiss me, like I haven't seen you naked and jerking off in my bedroom." Stiles winced. Sometimes his mouth just kept going. His mental brakes were worthless.

Jackson pushed him. Stiles hadn't been prepared for it, but even if he had he doubted it would have mattered. He grunted at the impact, lost his grip on Jackson as he went stumbling backwards.

"I'm sick of your bullshit, Stilinski!" Jackson's voice was so cold it was surprising the window on the door wasn't icing over.

There it was again. Jackson was back to calling him by his last name. Stiles was sick of it. Mixed messages? Jackson's signals were about as clear as a broken etch a sketch. Stiles had had enough of it. He lunged forward, pinned Jackson back up against the wall. Jackson's blue eyes got wide; he looked as shocked as Stiles felt over what he was doing.

"For the love of everything sugary and delicious in the world, Jacks, please tell me what the hell you are talking about!" Stiles winced again. He was shitty at making up exclamations on the spot.

Jackson blinked at him. "Really? That's what you've got? Sugary and delicious?"

Stiles scowled. "Things that are sugary and delicious are good. I was trying to say for the love of all the good things in the world, please tell me why the hell we keep doing this to each other."

"Why didn't you just say that then?" Jackson's brow furrowed up in confusion.

Stiles would have kissed the confusion away from Jackson's forehead if he wasn't wrestling with the overwhelming desire to strangle the jock to death with his own expensive shirt. He brushed his fingers along the collar. It was a nice shirt.

He shook his head. No more distractions. "That would have been a mouthful."

Jackson grinned. "I thought mouthfuls were your specialty."

Stiles blinked. He wasn't sure if that was a dig or if Jackson was back to flirting with him. He shook his head. No more distractions. "I'm trying to get you to tell me why you're acting so bipolar."

Jackson's mouth fell open. "Did you seriously just ask me that?" Jackson got a hold on Stiles's collar, shook him lightly. "You are asking me why I'm acting bipolar. I'm beginning to think you have more than ADHD going on in that head of yours." Jackson tapped on Stiles's temple to drive his point home.

Stiles frowned. "What?" They needed an interpreter. He wondered if anyone would be interested in sitting down with them to negotiate a cease fire. "Wait, don't answer that." Stiles took a deep breath. "Stop, Jacks. Just let me ask you something real quick. Why did you just get mad and use my last name?"

Jackson looked lost, like he'd arrived in the middle of a conversation other than the one that they were having. "Your last name… what the hell are you talking about, Stiles?"

There was the name Stiles had been looking to hear. Jackson opened his mouth, looked like he was going to continue talking since Stiles wasn't speaking. He wasn't going to give Jackson the chance to ruin it again. "Shut up."

It was now or never. No more distractions. Stiles almost started to consider how many times he'd stopped to think about not being distracted anymore, but instead he pushed Jackson harder up against the wall and kissed him.

Stiles let go of Jackson's shirt, got his hands tangled in Jackson's hair. It was better than he'd been expecting. Jackson's lips were soft, he tasted like apples. Stiles licked against the soft lips to get more of it. Strong hands gripped Stiles's waist, pulled him in so their bodies were flush against each other. The soft lips parted. Stiles licked inside Jackson's mouth, couldn't resist the urge to run his tongue along the perfect teeth inside.

Jackson moaned into his mouth, a little vibration that shot straight down to Stiles's groin. Fingers dug into Stiles's waist. Their tongues playfully wrestled together. Stiles pulled back mournfully. He needed more air, he hated that he hadn't spontaneously developed the super power to breathe via kissing.

He leaned back. Jackson's lips were slightly swollen. His lips probably looked the same. Jackson brought a thumb up, brushed it along Stiles's lower lip.

"Why now?" Jackson asked. There was curiosity in Jackson's blown open eyes. They were just tiny slivers of blue left around the edges.

"You said my name, Jacks." Stiles grinned. Such a simple thing that Jackson had refused to do. He never called Danny by his last name. Danny was important to Jackson. Stiles wanted to be important to him too.

"I say your name all the time." Jackson's eyes narrowed. "What's the big deal?"

Stiles sighed. He felt a little stupid trying to explain it. "It's just… When you call me by my last name it's almost like you're trying to separate me out into a different group. Like I'm not good enough to be your friend so you don't use my first name you just use my last name."

Jackson shook his head. "I call everyone by their last name most of the time."

Stiles dropped his forehead onto Jackson's shoulder. "You don't call Danny by his last name." It hurt to admit that even though they'd almost had sex a couple of times he wasn't in the same league as Jackson's other friends.

Jackson laughed. Stiles pulled back, glared at him. It wasn't a laughing matter. "What?"

"Danny's last name is a total mouthful. Do you even know what it is? Have you ever heard anyone call him by it?" Jackson smirked, little fits of laughter kept bubbling out of him.

Stiles opened his mouth. "Of course I know." Stiles tried to think. He was sure he'd heard someone use Danny's last name. Nothing came to him. "Son of a bitch…"


	16. Extra Laps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has a slight altercation with Coach Finstock.

* * *

Lacrosse practice was winding to a close. It'd been particularly brutal. Coach had been pushing everyone harder than normal in preparation for the end of the season. Jackson wasn't sure he remembered what having muscles that didn't ache felt like. He glanced around at the other wheezing players. Stiles was holding his side and walking in small circles.

"Bilinski!" Coach belted out. "You're never going to get off the bench if the only thing you're good at running is your mouth."

Jackson clenched his teeth together. He knew it shouldn't bother him, Coach was just being Coach, but for some reason the verbal attack on Stiles made his blood boil.

"It's Stilinski," Jackson said.

Coach took two steps forward, gripped Jackson's facemask and pulled his head so he could stare into his eyes. "What was that, Whittemore?"

"His name is Stiles, Stiles Stilinski. Not Bilinski." Jackson never stood up to Coach. No one stood up to Coach. It was the fastest way in the world to end up with extra suicide runs and a rapidly plummeting grade in Economics. He looked straight into Coach's face with defiance in his eyes.

"Oh really?" Coach's tone was dangerously soft. Normally he was practically manic; it was odd that he and Stiles didn't get along better.

"It's cool, Jacks. Don't worry about it." Stiles stepped up next to the two of them. "You can call me whatever you want, Coach."

Jackson tried to shake his head, but Coach's grip on his facemask hadn't loosened at all. Stiles patted him on the back. Jackson had no idea what had come over him. They hadn't had time to say much more in the eraser room earlier because the bell had sounded. They'd been late to Chemistry, but Mr. Harris simply ridiculed them rather than giving them detention. What Jackson had taken away from the conversation though, was that Stiles was having some sort of weird naming or identity issue, maybe Coach's refusal to use his name was part of it.

"Well how about you boys take a few laps around the field and discuss the idea that your names aren't important. What's important is that you're a part of the team. Actually, the thing that's really important is that you're a party of  _my_  team. If I want to call you Tinkerbelle, Whittemore, then the only thing I want to hear is your obedient acknowledgement. Got it?"

Jackson wanted to say more, but Stiles started pulling him away. Coach released his hold on Jackson's facemask. The two boys started running before any more veins started standing out on Coach's forehead.

"So," Stiles panted, his breathing was still heavy from the last round of suicide runs. "That was interesting."

"Shut up," Jackson said. He wanted to save his breath for running, not for discussing his momentary lapse of sanity.

"You didn't have to do that you know." Stiles bumped his shoulder into Jackson's as they continued to run. "Not that I didn't appreciate it."

Jackson glanced over; Stiles had a huge grin on his face. The kid was insane. They were running extra laps because Jackson had gotten mouthy with Coach for the first time, and all Stiles seemed to care about was that Jackson had tried to stick up for him.

"Whatever," Jackson mumbled. He kept pace with Stiles even though he'd easily be able to leave him in the dust and get done with his laps if he wanted to. "Just focus on running for once in your life."

Stiles laughed. "Trust me; I've been focused on running for other reasons before. That sort of thing comes up when werewolves try to kill you sometimes."

Jackson shook his head. Stiles could make a joke out of anything. They finished their first lap, Stiles was starting to wheeze a little.

"You know, I could help you do some endurance training if you want." Jackson didn't think Stiles would ever be first line, but if he was in better shape he'd maybe be able to sub if someone got hurt.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles looked over at him and waggled his eyebrows. "Are we using endurance training as a euphemism for something here?"

Jackson shook his head. He hadn't been thinking that, but the image of trying to run out the guy's stamina with some marathon sex suddenly started rampaging through his brain. He wasn't sure exactly where they stood with each other, but he wouldn't mind getting a little more action.

"I hadn't been, but now I'm thinking about it." Jackson looked over and grinned. Stiles tripped over his own feet and went face first into the ground. Jackson winced, that had looked brutal. He crouched down, used the back of his hand to nudge Stiles's shoulder. "You okay?"

Stiles groaned, the sound muffled by the grass of the field. Jackson couldn't hold back a small laugh. He tugged on the back of Stiles's jersey. Stiles stumbled to his feet. They set off jogging again.

"That sucked," Stiles said. "Why'd you have to try to distract me?"

Jackson laughed again. "I'm pretty sure you don't need any help being clumsy."

"You wound me, Jacks." Stiles placed one hand over his heart. "You should be nicer if you want any more action from me."

"Well, I think we need to work on our chemistry tonight if you aren't busy." Jackson glanced over at Stiles as they finished their second lap. He sucked in a burning lungful of air. Extra laps were painful.

"I thought we had pretty good chemistry in the eraser room." Stiles slowed his pace, smiling when Jackson slowed down to match him. "That counts for something right?"

"Dumbass, I meant our chemistry project; you know the one we are partners for."

Stiles let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, you meant chemistry when you said chemistry, that's so weird. Yeah sure, that sounds like it won't be any fun at all. Your place or mine?"

"My parents are out of town still, and no one is likely to try to shoot me at my place." Jackson had no idea what the current situation with Stiles's father was, but he wasn't eager to find out any time soon. "Plus, we can take a dip in the pool once we're done."

Stiles's eyes lit up. He licked his lips as they curved into a smile. "Yeah? That part actually does sound fun. How about I make us dinner, we work on our chemistry, we go swimming, then we work on our  _chemistry_." He nudged Jackson with his elbow. "You know what I mean?"

Jackson hadn't thought Stiles capable of having a one track mind, but he was on board with the plan. He didn't know how he felt about Stiles making him dinner, that'd almost make it like a date. He didn't respond right away, decided to mull over the concept as they finished their third lap.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Okay, I guess that sounds fine."

Stiles was hunched over, hands on knees and breathing heavily. He looked up, sweat trickled down his face. "It sounds fine? That's not very enthusiastic."

Jackson closed his eyes and continued taking deep breaths. Somehow he'd gotten himself back on thin ice. Trying to arrange whatever it was that they were doing was like running blindfolded through a minefield.

"Stiles, we just ran extra laps after practice. You promise me a massage in the hot tub instead of swimming, and I'll show you just how enthusiastic I can be." He winked at Stiles. "Hard to be excited when you can barely breathe."

Stiles stood up straight, shook his legs out, and hopped up and down in place to keep from cramping up. "You think you're having trouble breathing right now? Trust me, Jacks; you haven't been through anything yet."

Jackson just loved a challenge. He took a few steps to get up close to Stiles, but not quite so close that the other people on the field might think something was up. Stiles licked his lips nervously.

"You think you're having trouble standing right now, Stiles? You think your muscles ache? Trust me; you have no idea what I'm capable of." Jackson turned away; the rest of the team was already headed back towards the school to get cleaned up. "After I'm done doing things you've only fantasized about, things you haven't even seen in porn, you'll realize what being exhausted is really like."

Jackson didn't turn to look back at Stiles as he started walking towards the bench to get his bag. The truth was he didn't have the slightest idea what they were going to do, if he was even going to be good at it. He was going to have to wing it. That made him nervous. He hated not being the best. He'd been watching a lot of gay porn since that first encounter with Stiles in the locker room, hopefully it paid off. Jackson grabbed his gear and started jogging.

"Hey, Jacks. Just so you know I'm pretty sure Scott heard everything we said while we were running. I think you freaked him out."

Jackson whipped his head around to see Scott looking in their direction from where he was standing by the door to the locker room. First the overprotective father, now the werewolf best friend, Jackson was so surprised he got his lacrosse stick tangled up with his feet. Eating dirt on the field had never been quite so painful.


	17. Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott tries to make sure Stiles is being careful, but ends up learning more than he wanted to.

* * *

Stiles winced. Jackson's fall was among the most graceless things he'd ever witnessed. It wasn't as bad as the night he'd been stumbling all over himself after Stiles had picked him up in the park, but it was close. Jackson got to his feet, but didn't look back as he made his way to where Scott stood by the door. Stiles didn't think Scott would say anything to Jackson, but when his best friend caught Jackson's arm as he tried to brush past him Stiles's mouth fell open in shock. He jogged quickly to get within earshot of the conversation, but he only caught the last few words.

"Trust me," Scott said, "you  _will_  care what I think if you hurt him."

Jackson didn't respond, just shook his arm out of Scott's grasp and slammed the locker room door behind him. Stiles was still short on breath as he got close to his friend, but even if he hadn't been he wouldn't have been able to get a word in. Scott's eyes were full of amber energy as he spun around to face Stiles.

"Really? Jackson? What are you thinking? He's a monumental douche to everyone. I mean, I'm not the best judge of guys, but I'm sure there are other people out there who would be a lot better for you." Scott started pacing, dropped his gear to the ground, but even though he was moving he wasn't breaking eye contact. Yellow eyes pinned Stiles in place as the words poured out. "First Lydia, who most of the time is a raving bitch, and now Jackson, who most of the time is an inconsiderate asshole, you're so much better than that. I feel like I need to get you a pamphlet about finding the right type of person to date."

"Like a werewolf dating a werewolf hunter?" Stiles's lips turned up at the corner as he tilted his head up to meet Scott's gaze without flinching. "Besides, we're not dating… we're negotiating a cessation of hostilities, and there may be sex as part of the peace treaty."

Scott's mouth opened and closed several times before he could think of how to phrase his response. "Allison and me are totally different, dude. I mean, I get what you're saying, but I'm just trying to look out for you. You're too good for him, and by the way, since when have you been into guys?"

Stiles shrugged; he cast his eyes towards the ground. He normally didn't need time to think about responses to questions, he had a gift for running his mouth, but it didn't seem right to just throw something thoughtless out. He scuffed his shoes across the cement, the scraping on the ground was louder than he expected. He still wasn't sure if he was into guys in the general sweeping way, or if it was just a Jackson thing at the moment. In the lifetime movies the gay characters always said something about having known since they were little, but real life wasn't so cut and dry. It was just a thing that had happened, and while he'd spent a lot of time analyzing it, he hadn't come to any real conclusions.

"I appreciate the concern, Scott. I just think I'm still processing it. Things have happened—"

"Things? Oh god, what things? No wait, don't answer that, I'll never be able to unhear it if you do." Scott's eyes had gone from furious gold to curious brown. Concern was painted clearly on his face from the tightness of his lips to the tiny furrow above his nose. "I just want you to be careful."

The conversation with his father came roaring back to the front of Stiles's brain, the awkwardness of the condoms, and the stench of the eggs that had died for the greater good his father was working towards. He reached into his gear bag and pulled out one of the condoms. He'd started carrying two around with him just in case something unexpected happened. One he kept in his wallet, and one he kept with his sports equipment. Considering his first sexual encounter had been in the locker room he wasn't sure if he'd always have his wallet with him. He waved the packet at Scott.

"Don't worry. I'm going to be careful," Stiles said.

Scott took a step back, eyes widening at the condom in Stiles's hands. He shook his head and brought his hands out in a defensive position as if Stiles was shaking a poisonous viper at him. Color drained out of Scott's face.

"Oh god," he said, "No, Stiles, that's not what I was talking about. I meant be careful because he might like, break your heart or something because he's a huge asshole. Not… not…"

Stiles tilted his head forward and cocked it slightly as if waiting for more. Scott's eyes seemed to be getting wider as he stared at the condom. Stiles couldn't stop himself from grinning. "You mean you weren't talking about me being careful having crazy sex with Jackson?"

Scott put his hands over his ears and turned away. "I'm not hearing this. I  _can't_  be hearing this." He abruptly turned around and caught Stiles's biceps in a desperate grip. "I'm not saying you can't be gay or whatever, I don't care about that. What I'm saying is that you're like my brother, and we should never talk about you and Jackson's—"

"Naked time?" Stiles was trying to be helpful, but Scott let go and leapt back from him as if he'd been burned.

"Remember how I told you that I didn't need to know about you waking up sweaty when you implied you had wet dreams sometimes?" The words sounded like they were being pulled out of Scott's mouth with pliers.

"Everyone has wet—"

"I'm just saying there's stuff we don't need to go into graphic detail about."

Stiles grinned again. Scott seemed to be determined to not let him have much fun with their conversation. He slipped the condom back into his bag. Scott's hands fell to his sides as he slumped back against the wall of the school. He looked like he'd just spent a sleepless night running from hunters instead of just talking about his best friend possibly having gay sex.

"It's cool. I got it." Stiles reached out for the door, but Scott caught his wrist before he could open it.

"None of that came out the way I really wanted it to." Scott ran the hand that wasn't holding Stiles's wrist through his hair, his eyes darted back and forth between their shoes. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. I want you to be happy. If due to the nature of the weird alternate dimension we seem to be trapped in at the moment the person that makes you happy is Jackson Whittemore then I'm glad for you. I have no idea how something like that could have happened without me noticing earlier, so clearly alternate dimension is the only explanation that makes any rational sense."

Stiles chuckled at how much of a nerd Scott could be. Alternate dimensions? Like that was a thing he often contemplated. Then again Stiles's best friend was a werewolf; strange things seemed to be afoot in Beacon Hills.

"It happens the way all things happen," Stiles said. "It's just takes one moment for everything you know about life to get turned upside down."

Scott nodded, hand reflexively going to his side where he'd been bitten. He looked up at Stiles. "I'm just afraid Jackson is going to disappoint you."

Stiles snorted. "Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

"Star Wars quotes? Is now the appropriate time?" Scott shook his head, but let go of Stiles's wrist.

"You brought up alternate dimensions thus opening the door for all science fiction quotes." Stiles opened the door, but paused before stepping inside. "Thanks, Scott."

Curious brown eyes locked onto Stiles's face. "For what?"

"For caring about what might happen to my heart." Stiles licked his lips nervously. "Sometimes we're too busy to keep each other up on all the things that happen, but I'm glad you figured this out."

Scott grinned. "We're best friends forever, dude. Nothing's ever going to change that. Not me being a werewolf, not you being into Jackson or whoever else. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not looking forward to the double dates and stuff, but if it's for you, I'll endure them. At least you finally got the answer to your question."

Stiles didn't know what Scott meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to walk into whatever joke was being set up. Curiosity though more than anything else had always been his weakness. "What question is that?"

"The one that helped me realize that on some level I always knew that you might eventually be interested in guys." Scott winked at Stiles, and then let out a brief chuckle at the blank look on Stiles's face. "You know the one about whether or not gay guys found you attractive. You got your answer, looks like they do."

Stiles grinned. Scott was right to a degree, Stiles was apparently attractive on some level to gay guys. "You know what, Scott? You're right, though I haven't gotten Jackson to tell me why he finds me attractive yet. I'm going to find out tonight, and I'll be sure to let you know in excruciating detail about it tomorrow."

Scott groaned, but followed Stiles into the locker room. "If you're going to make him dinner, make your chicken parmesan."

"Why?"

The question cut through the otherwise silent locker room. Jackson must have already packed up his stuff and headed home. Stiles couldn't wait to see him; they'd danced around each other long enough. For better or worse, everything was going to change after their date.

"Anybody would want to have sex with you after trying it for the first time."

Stiles laughed, Scott had a good point. He started making a list in his head of what he'd need. For all Scott's talk about not wanting to know the details, he had a lot of suggestions for things Stiles could do to help ensure the success of the night.


	18. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles arrives to make Jackson dinner, but manages to confuse him in the process.

* * *

Jackson frowned at the full length mirror in his bedroom. Designer clothes littered the floor, but he hadn't figured out what he wanted to wear. The plan was to have dinner and then go swimming, so logically he should have swim trunks, but should he just wear them right from the beginning or change into them? Changing would mean there would be naked time, but then they might not go swimming. That wasn't exactly a bad thing, but he wouldn't mind seeing Stiles soaking wet. More importantly, Jackson wouldn't mind patting him dry with a towel.

He turned around and looked over his shoulder, the jeans he was wearing were tight enough to do more than hint at some of his best assets. The doorbell rang causing him to curse under his breath. He kicked piles of clothes into his closet. He didn't have socks on, and the only shirt he was wearing was a pale grey tank top. The doorbell rang three more times in rapid succession. Jackson forced the closet door closed, then jogged quickly downstairs.

Stiles tilted his head curiously when Jackson opened the door. "You get started without me or something?" He shamelessly let his eyes rake over Jackson's body. "Help me with some of this stuff, yeah?" He held out a handful of plastic shopping bags.

Jackson took the offered bags, but didn't respond to the comment about his state of dress. Stiles hadn't dressed up for the occasion at all. He was wearing jeans, a weird black t-shirt with a picture of a rooster and a pair of teeth underneath a white button down.

"Did you bring trunks?" Jackson wondered if he still had stuff in his jeep he needed to go back for, all he had in his hands were shopping bags.

Stiles licked his lips. "Did I need those? I figured if they were going to be required I'd just borrow some of yours or whatever." There was a glint of mischief in his brown eyes.

Jackson shook his head. "I'm sure we can figure something out. The kitchen's this way." Jackson turned and led Stiles down the hall. It wasn't as though Stiles didn't know where the kitchen was, he'd broken in through the back patio door on his last visit. "This is a lot of stuff, are you feeding an army?"

They piled the bags onto the counter. Stiles started rummaging through the cabinets for pans, pots, and cooking utensils. "I don't know about you, Jacks, but I'm a growing boy. I need a lot of food."

"Something I can do to help?" Jackson felt awkward standing in his own kitchen not doing anything. He leaned back, elbows resting on a countertop, and his hips thrust forward slightly. Truth be told, he hadn't really been expecting Stiles to show up with the ingredients for a dinner. He thought maybe they'd order pizza, or make something from what his parents had stocked the kitchen with.

Stiles turned to look at him; a faint bit of color filled his cheeks. "Where are your baking pans?"

"Right up here." Jackson tilted his head back and looked up at the cabinet he was standing in front of. "You want me to—"

"No it's fine." Stiles walked up, got so close that Jackson cold smell the soap he'd used getting cleaned up after practice. There was only a fraction of space between the two of them as Stiles reached over Jackson's shoulder to open the cabinet and pull out one of the smaller pans.

Jackson took a deep breath; freshly showered Stiles had also applied a faint amount of some sort of cologne or aftershave. For a moment Stiles's outstretched arm trembled. He looked at Jackson's lips. Stiles set the pan down on the counter next to Jackson's elbow, but didn't step away.

"Something wrong?" Jackson couldn't keep from smirking at Stiles's sudden tension.

"N-no. I was just… I was just wondering if it'd be alright if we you know…"

Jackson tilted his head to the side. He imagined Stiles was asking if it'd be alright if they kissed, but he really wanted to hear him say it, so he just shrugged. The tile under his arms was cool, but he could practically feel the heat coming off Stiles's body, a red flush began to creep up Stiles's neck.

Stiles took a trembling breath. His fingers brushed up against Jackson's arms. Stiles normally seemed so sure about what he was doing, even if he was awkward about it, he had a kind of confidence that told everyone around him he wasn't afraid to be himself. In the soft light of the kitchen Stiles didn't look quite so sure of himself.

"You know…" Stiles curled his fingers in the front of Jackson's grey shirt, rubbed his thumb over the soft grey cotton clinging to his stomach. Jackson shrugged again. Stiles let out of soft expulsion of breath, licked his lips again, and leaned forward a little more.

Jackson couldn't take his eyes off the soft pink lips that were just a few inches away. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, but the hand curled in his shirt let go, and the kiss he was expecting didn't come. He opened his eyes to see Stiles's silly grin as he turned away to fill a pot with water. Jackson shook his head.

"What was that?" he asked, trying and failing to keep it from coming out as an annoyed huff.

Stiles whistled softly as he turned on the stove and set the pot of water on it. "Nothing, I just needed the pan. Were you expecting something else?"

Jackson picked up the pan and crossed the kitchen; the tiles were cool against his bare feet. He dropped the pan down on the counter next to the stove. He crowded up against Stiles's back and looked over his shoulder. Stiles tensed up when Jackson's lips brushed up against his ear.

"No," Jackson whispered before turning away to rifle through the bags to see what was for dinner. Stiles was sorely mistaken if he thought teasing was going to give him the upper hand. He must have forgotten that Jackson had dated Lydia. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken parmesan with rice, salad, and some mixed peppers." Stiles watched the water intently, his fingers drummed on the oven handle. "Can I ask you a question?"

Jackson grunted. There was a ninety percent chance that whatever Stiles asked him was going to be something either silly or awkward. If he was going to start spending more time with him he might as well get used to it. "Sure."

"Why do you find me attractive?" Stiles needlessly adjusted how the pot was sitting on the burner, as if that would somehow make it boil faster. The muscles in his neck twitched under a different kind of tension.

Jackson watched Stiles silently as he thought about what to say. It wasn't an easily answered question. Stiles was adorable in a geeky sort of way, but he was a far cry from the elegant well put together girls that Jackson normally favored. He was funny, but telling a guy he was attractive because he was funny in answer to that question might make him think you were calling him ugly. Jackson sighed. He should have picked up a Complimenting Dudes for Dummies book, or asked Danny for pointers or something. Of course that would have meant that he'd have to have told Danny that he was in the awkward early stages of doing something with a guy. He wasn't sure if he would call it dating, and they hadn't exactly had sex.

"Whatever, you don't have to answer." The tension in Stiles's neck spread through his whole back, instead of drumming his fingers on the oven's handle he gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white. "It was a stupid question."

It wasn't a stupid question; Jackson was just stupid for not knowing what to say. He'd spent the entire time after practice thinking about sex, where they'd have sex, and what kind of sex, but he hadn't actually considered why they'd have sex. His ninth grade Health teacher would probably be cheering at his sudden moment of clarity, that his brain had wrestled back control from his dick.

He gazed out the window above the sink at the pool in the back yard. The lights were on, the surface glimmered, but he didn't find the words he was looking for out there. Jackson sighed again, he wasn't a poet. He was just a guy, a guy who didn't know how to tell another guy that he liked him, or thought he was hot, or that he wanted to have sex with him. That wasn't the sort of thing that guys learned when they were growing up. He couldn't say he liked how soft and long Stiles's hair was, or that he had gorgeous eyes, or that he looked good in heels. He couldn't say that Stiles didn't need makeup to be beautiful. Those were compliments for girls. Hell, he couldn't even tell Stiles he was beautiful. Guys wanted to be hot, not cute, not adorable, not pretty, and certainly not beautiful.

He couldn't tell Stiles he was ripped with muscle. It's not that Stiles was out of shape, he had a nice body, but he didn't know how to say that without it sounding forced or weak. Jackson couldn't tell Stiles he liked his clothes, because frankly Stiles's sense of style was pretty baffling. Who even wore maroon pants and thought it was a good idea? Thankfully he wasn't wearing them now or the whole situation would have been even more difficult.

"I don't know," Jackson said. "You're cool, or whatever."

"I'd throw this water in your face, but it's not boiling yet." Stiles spun around and started grabbing the plastic bags of food. "You know what? This was probably a bad idea. I think I'm just going to go home and make dinner for myself."

Jackson caught Stiles's wrist and pulled him around, but Stiles wouldn't look him in the eyes, he was focused on the tiles under their feet. Jackson tilted Stiles's face up. "I like you. Isn't that enough? Just because I don't know how to say it the way you want to hear it doesn't mean I don't." Jackson closed his eyes, but just let the words come out without thinking about them too much. "It's not something I'd thought about a lot until recently. I could tell you that you're funny, or that you're not afraid to be anybody but who you are, that you don't hide behind masks to make other people like you, but would it matter? Would it even make sense?"

Jackson was floundering, but he couldn't stop. "I think about your lips, I'm pretty sure I'm obsessed with them and your tongue too. I find it fascinating that you've always got your mouth open. I think about your eyes, and how you must see everything so much differently than I do, and that I just wish that I could see stuff the way you do, because then maybe I'd be able to tell you what you want to hear."

There was silence for what felt like an eternity. Jackson still had Stiles's wrist in his hand, but let it go when Stiles pulled back away from him. It all seemed so hopeless, they were just too different, and there was no way that Jackson could get Stiles to see that he wasn't just fucking around, but that he really did like him, that it wasn't just about sex or getting off.

A soft kiss brushed against Jackson's lips. It was brief, but unexpected and electrifying. One strong hand curled in the back of his hair, the other curled into the front pocket of his jeans. A playful tongue ran along Jackson's lips until he opened his mouth to let it in. He gripped Stiles's hips and pulled their bodies together.

"Why didn't you just say that the first time?" The words were whispered against Jackson's lips, breathed directly into his mouth, but then Stiles turned away so quickly Jackson stumbled a forward few steps before he caught his balance again. "Let's get dinner done, so we can get on to the good stuff. Mix up the salad."

Jackson shook his head. Sometimes he didn't think the two of them would ever really be on the same page at the same time, but as long as they kept trying it would probably work out in the end.


	19. Hot Tub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Jackson get closer, and Stiles makes an important decision.

* * *

Stiles felt heat rising up his neck as he let his jeans fall to the floor. He had no idea if Jackson was watching him undress, but his skin was prickled with goose bumps like someone was watching him. The pool house they were changing in was bigger than his family's living room, but it was just one room with benches. The sharp scent of chlorine drifted through the area. Stiles pulled his shirts off, but shifted his weight between his feet and hesitated before slipping out of his boxer shorts. He stared at the swim trunks Jackson had loaned him; they were lying on the bench in front of him, daring him to get naked and slip into them.

"A-are you sure we should be swimming so soon after eating?" Stiles knew that he was babbling, but he wasn't sure if he'd spoken in order to draw Jackson's attention while he undressed. "Maybe we should watch a movie or something first?"

"Do I look like an Olympic swimmer to you?" Jackson sighed. "Just get changed already, it's not like I haven't seen your skinny ass before."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah but when you saw it before you weren't interested in getting a piece of it." He took a deep breath then shucked off his boxers. He grabbed the trunks, but almost tripped and fell when Jackson let out a low whistle.

"How do you know? Maybe all this time I've been secretly pining after you, furiously masturbating at night to thoughts of what I'd do once I got the chance." Jackson's voice was barely above a whisper, but it came from right behind Stiles.

"Well to be fair, I only saw you furiously masturbating about me once." The words popped out of Stiles's mouth before he could run them through his appropriateness checker. He pulled the trunks up around his hips. Jackson had no idea that Stiles had worked himself over in his bathroom, whispering Jackson's name in the dark, picturing the blonde naked and waiting in his bed. His dick gave an interested twitch at the memory, and Stiles scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

Warm arms slipped around Stiles's waist, hands traced along the top of the trunks. Curious fingers dipped into the front, but they just took hold of the drawstrings rather than investigating Stiles suddenly very interested dick. Jackson's chest pressed into Stiles's back, his lips brushed up against Stiles's ear.

"I guess you'll have to show me how you masturbate sometime so we're even." Jackson nipped skin behind Stiles's ear.

"Yeah…" Stiles would have said more, but the half hard length of Jackson's cock pressed into his ass was too distracting. He looked down and watched in fascination as Jackson tied the strings of the trunks, tried to ignore the flexing of Jackson's chest and the soft breath skipping over his neck. "Maybe…"

"Hot tub or pool? Any preference?" Jackson stepped away after finishing tying Stiles's strings.

"The one with water?" Stiles winced at the stupid words, and how they came out at a slightly higher pitch than normal. Jackson had tied up Stiles's words just as easily as he'd tied the drawstrings.

"Come on."

Stiles turned, and even though he didn't get a good look at Jackson's face, he could see the flush riding up his neck. It was pretty adorable, and sexy. Stiles didn't even know that adorable and sexy could go together, but Jackson seemed to effortlessly entwine sexy into everything that he did.

The cement was cool against Stiles's bare feet as he made his way out of the pool house. Jackson walked towards the far side of the pool, and then climbed up a small set of steps to the raised platform that held the hot tub. He never bothered to look back to see if Stiles was following him, and for one moment Stiles considered jumping into the pool to spite him. The low moan that Jackson made as he slipped into the hot tub convinced Stiles that it'd be better to be with him than in the pool alone. He was relatively sure that most people would choose a hot enclosed space with a moaning Jackson over a large open space with no moaning Jackson.

"You coming?" There was mischief in Jackson's voice. "Or are you going to join me in the hot tub first?"

Stiles tried to balance dignity and the overwhelming desire to slip into the hot water next to the hottest guy he'd ever seen in real life. The scales tipped easily. His feet carried him quickly to the hot tub, and he even skipped a step as he made his way up onto the platform. He told himself that it was because he wanted to get in the water, not because he wanted to find out what other noises Jackson could make.

Heat rippled up his leg as he slipped a foot into the churning water. He licked his lips and bit back his own moan as he slipped waist deep into the tub. He was on the opposite side of the tub, and he couldn't help but grin at the dazed look on Jackson's face. Ice blue eyes were locked onto his lips. He licked them again, and kept the smirk off his face as Jackson swallowed and licked his own lips.

"You're all the way over there," Jackson said. He tilted his head to the side, and leaned back against the edge of the tub, arms stretched out along the top. "It's warmer over here."

Stiles grinned. "How do you know it's not warmer over here?"

Jackson gave a small shrug of his shoulders, leaned his head back, and let his eyes close. "I think I know this hot tub pretty well, and I'm telling you, it's better over on this side."

Stiles wasn't sure if it was the water swirling around him, the steam he was breathing in, or the desperate desire to lick up the length of Jackson's exposed neck that was making him light headed. It was Jackson's hot tub; he probably did know it best. Sitting next to him would probably be better than sitting along on the other side, but Stiles wasn't very good at listening to what other people wanted him to do.

Jackson languidly ran a hand down his chest and over his belly. "Dinner was amazing, where'd you learn to cook like that?"

Stiles couldn't take his eyes off Jackson's neck; he didn't want to talk about cooking. He'd waited long enough and he was ready for dessert. He slipped off the bench and crossed the small distance separating them. Jackson's head came up and his mouth fell open in shock as Stiles straddled his lap.

"No more talking," Stiles whispered.

"I never thought I'd hear you of all people say that." Jackson smirked, but he put his hands on Stiles's waist.

He probably should have been offended at that comment, but Stiles was done playing. He brought one of his hands out of the water and threaded his fingers through the back of Jackson's hair. He rocked his weight down into Jackson's lap and pulled his head back. Jackson gasped as Stiles's teeth closed on the side of his neck.

The low moan that bubbled out of Jackson's throat sent heat from Stiles's belly down into his groin. He licked against the sensitive skin of Jackson's neck, then tightened his grip in the blonde hair and bit down and sucked hard. Jackson grunted, his hips instinctively bucking up into Stiles. They were both hard, and it had been so long since that first time in the locker room, since the first time they'd pressed their bodies so tightly together. Nails raked up Stiles's back, and the sensation made Stiles's dick twitch against Jackson's stomach.

"Your hands are amazing," Stiles whispered against Jackson's neck. He trailed kisses up until their lips met. Hunger exploded through Stiles's stomach, and he moaned into Jackson's mouth. He'd wanted this so badly for so long that he couldn't believe it was actually happening. Jackson opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, and there was no way Stiles was going to pass on that invitation. Jackson had brushed his teeth after dinner, and the fresh mint taste of his tongue made Stiles want more.

Kissing Jackson, their bodies grinding together, the hot water surrounding them, Stiles didn't know if he'd ever experienced a more perfect moment. He pulled away from the kiss to take a steadying breath. Jackson's eyes fluttered open, and the blue was nearly swallowed up by the hungry black. A shiver ran up Stiles's spine, Jackson seized him by the back of the neck and pulled him down for another kiss. The first had been a slow exploration, a savoring of the moment, but there was desperation in the second. Jackson kissed him so hard that Stiles thought he was trying to get air out of Stiles's lungs, like the regular oxygen in the air wasn't good enough.

"I want you so much," Jackson said. "You have no idea." There was a tiny edge of vulnerability in Jackson's voice; it was smaller than normal, filled slightly with fear, like he thought Stiles was going to suddenly abandon him. "I want you so bad."

Stiles pressed his hips down harder over Jackson's lap. He was so hard it felt like every nerve in his body had been hijacked by his dick. He didn't know how to reassure Jackson, how to make him understand that he wasn't going anywhere. He ran both his hands through Jackson's hair, tilted his head up so that they were staring into each other's eyes. Jackson's arms tightened around him, and in the tightness of the embrace Stiles felt safe, secure, and  _desired_. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, knowing that someone wanted him.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Stiles kept running his fingers through Jackson's hair, leaned in close, and kissed him again. "I want this too. Sometimes I think I'm going to wake up and all of this had just been the most amazing dream I've ever had, not something that's actually happening to me."

"Can we take this inside? If we keep…" Jackson grunted, his hips still grinding up into Stiles's body. "I'm not going to last if we keep doing this, and I'd really like to move past the whole grinding on each other stage into something… else."

Electricity surged down Stiles's spine and into his groin. The thought of going further was terrifying, he had so many questions. He had no idea if they were going to go all the way, or only part way, or if he was going to be any good. He wasn't sure what he was willing to do, or what Jackson was willing to do.

"What… what are we going to do?" Stiles closed his eyes and stilled his body with a colossal effort of will. He leaned down, hid his face in Jackson's neck. "I'm a virgin…"

He felt Jackson swallow nervously, and he tightened his arms around Jackson's neck, suddenly irrationally terrified that he was going to be pushed away. Soothing hands stroked down his spine, and a soft kiss was pressed against the side of head.

"We can do whatever you want, take it as slow or as fast as you want. We don't even have to do anything else if you don't want to. We can just stay here." Jackson's voice was soft, but serious. "Whatever you want to do."

Desire clawed its way around Stiles's stomach. He nipped the side of Jackson's neck again, sucked the skin hard. He wanted to leave a mark. "You said you were going to show me what exhaustion was really like, things that I'd only fantasized about. Did you mean it?"

"You have no idea how serious I was."

"Then let's go inside, I'm ready."


	20. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Stiles manage to work through their mutual fears and get closer to each other.

* * *

The rational part of Jackson's mind told him trailing water through the house would make his parents furious, but the horny teenager part of his brain was calling the shots. The expensive carpet could handle two pairs of damp feet. Stiles was right behind him, a towel draped over his head and shoulders. He paused at the base of the stairs, and Jackson turned to look over his shoulder. Stiles ran a hand over the wood railing, and nibbled on his lower lip. He looked up at Jackson through hooded eyes.

"We don't have to go up to my room," Jackson said. "We can just watch television or something if you want." He pivoted on the stairs and took a single step back down, but Stiles blocked him from exiting staircase.

"I want to." Stiles licked his lips. He shivered in the cool air of the house. The heat was on, but it couldn't compare to the steam from the hot tub.

Jackson extended a hand. Brown eyes looked at him curiously, and then a small smile played across Stiles's lips as he took it. Jackson wondered if Stiles's hand was damp from the water they'd been in or from nerves. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he was afraid he'd start to sound like a broken record, so instead he just turned and led them up the stairs. He opened the door to his room, and gestured for Stiles to go first.

Jackson had tied his towel around his waist; he uncurled it and started to pat his hair dry while Stiles investigated the room. The furniture was dark; the tags had identified the color as 'espresso'. A queen sized bed flanked by matching nightstands, a dresser, and a desk were arranged against the walls. There was also a trophy case, and two doors. One led to his bathroom, the other was holding back the mountain of clothes he'd shoved into the closet. Stiles wandered over to the case, ran his fingers over a couple of the larger trophies.

"You're good at a lot of stuff." Stiles said.

' _Let's hope so,'_  Jackson thought. He was probably even more terrified of what they were going to do than Stiles. He'd fantasized about it, considered what they would try, and what he'd be comfortable with. If he was honest with himself he'd admit that he wanted to see what was supposedly so great about bottoming, but he wasn't very good at being honest. He wasn't sure he could just lay back and let Stiles do what he wanted. Jackson needed to be the one to set the pace.

"Come here," Jackson said. "I can help you get dried off and warmed up."

Stiles tore his gaze away from the trophies and looked at Jackson with mischief in his eyes. He curled the towel that hung from his head and shoulders around his body to hide his chest. Jackson immediately missed the sight of Stiles's small pink nipples. He remembered how Stiles had reacted to him touching them in the locker room. He wanted to hear Stiles moan, needed to be the cause of it.

"I could do with a bit of heat," Stiles whispered. He padded silently across the carpet, but kept the towel wrapped tightly around his torso. "I'm just not sure I'm ready to face the cold in order to get it."

Jackson snorted, and tugged on the towel until Stiles let it go with an overly dramatic sigh. He ran a thumb over Stiles's chin, eyes focused on soft pink lips. There was something he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn't remember what it was. Stiles reached out and brushed his knuckles along Jackson's stomach.

"Getting warmer," Stiles whispered.

Jackson nodded his head, let his eyes close, and leaned in for a kiss. Stiles met him half way, one hand cradling the side of Jackson's face. It was gentle, curious, not demanding. Jackson ran his fingers down Stiles's spine, blunt nails scratching lightly at the sensitive skin at the base. Stiles gasped softly, the sound almost swallowed up by their kiss. He opened his mouth, and Jackson took the invitation, tongue slipping inside to explore. He guided Stiles's hips with his hands, turned and pushed him back until his legs hit the bed.

"Jackson—"

"I want to make you feel good." Jackson wasn't sure he'd ever wanted something so badly before in his life. "Please, I'll make it good for you. Trust me."

Stiles nodded, let Jackson push him back to sit on the bed. His eyes got comically wide as Jackson knelt between his spread legs. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as Jackson's fingers took hold of the drawstring on his trunks and undid the knot.

"Can you lift your hips up for me?" Jackson kissed Stiles's knee, then tugged lightly on the shorts before looking up at Stiles through his blonde eyelashes. Stiles nodded without saying anything. He raised himself up, and let Jackson slip the shorts off.

Stiles let out a soft sigh when he settled back onto the bed. "These blankets are really soft; I bet they're high thread count. Probably cost more than my bed."

Jackson let Stiles babble. He was pretty sure only sheets had thread counts, but he knew that Stiles talked when he was nervous. The habit was growing on him, even though he'd once threatened to fuck Stiles until he couldn't speak. Jackson ignored the words coming out of Stiles's mouth, none of them were 'no', or 'back off', so they weren't that important. He leaned in, ran his nose along Stiles's thigh and up toward his slowly hardening dick. That was a good sign, he hadn't actually touched Stiles but the interest was already there, the anticipation.

Stiles smelled like chlorine mostly, but under that there was that unique scent of his skin. Jackson didn't really have a name for it, but breathing it in made him light headed. The smell got thicker the closer he got to his goal. Stiles gasped, legs twitching under Jackson's hands and lips. Heat radiated from Stiles's skin. Jackson ran his tongue along Stiles's inner thigh, and then placed a soft kiss against the tip of Stiles's glistening dick. It bobbed, straining towards him. Stiles's breath hitched, the sound was like a drug, getting Jackson high and leaving him desperately needing more. He pressed his lips softly to the tip again, licked out with his tongue, and groaned at the taste. Slightly sweet, slightly salty, and utterly perfect.

"Jacks, please," Stiles whispered. "Please."

Jackson nuzzled against Stiles's cock, ran his lips and tongue along the side. He gripped Stiles's hips with his hands. Stiles reached out and raked blunt nails across Jackson's shoulder blades, and then scratched lightly over the back and sides of his neck. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed; the sensation set his nerves tingling.

"Taste good," Jackson murmured against the base of Stiles's dick. He swiped his tongue around to the vein on the bottom, licked up the length of it and over the tip again. "So good…"

Stiles made a choked noise, fingers scratching up and into the back of Jackson's hair. He was beginning to wonder if Stiles had any idea how amazing it felt, or if he was doing it on instinct. Either way he wanted to show his appreciation. He closed his mouth over the tip of Stiles's cock; it strained against his lips, hard, smooth, and so warm. Every time Stiles's muscles contracted involuntarily, every time the heat in his mouth twitched, Jackson let out a delirious groan of pleasure.

"Oh god," Stiles grunted. "No idea…"

Need flared in Jackson's belly. He was so hard. He gripped himself through his swim trunks, and moaned around Stiles's dick. Jackson sucked harder, desperate to give Stiles everything he wanted and so much more. His head bobbed up and down, he tried to swallow as much of Stiles as he could, and curled his free hand around the base to work the portion he couldn't reach with his mouth. Stiles's hips bucked up, and Jackson gagged at the sudden impact against the back of his throat. He tried to swallow, but had to back off. He coughed, and fear raced down his spine as he sat back on his heels. He wasn't able to take Stiles completely into his mouth, and the failure ate at his insides. Jackson looked up, worried about what he'd see in Stiles's face.

Stiles's eyes were dilated. He reached out and ran a thumb over Jackson's lips. "You're amazing. Let me?" Stiles ran fingers through the front of Jackson's hair, then reached down to grip him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been sure he'd let Stiles down, but the way his hands were shaking as he undid and pushed down Jackson's trunks implied that he'd been doing a good job. "Good?" He regretted asking as soon as the word slipped through his lips, but he needed to know.

"Awesome…" Stiles sounded distracted, voice trailing off towards the end of the word. He let out a little gasp when Jackson's dick sprang free. "Can I?"

Jackson almost laughed, but he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. It's not like he'd never gotten a blowjob before, but anticipation danced down his spine. There was no way anyone would ever say no to a proposition like that. He was pretty sure he'd agree to anything Stiles wanted just to get into his mouth. Stiles licked his lips and scooted forward onto the edge of the bed.

Heat closed over the tip of Jackson's dick, made his toes curl into the carpet. He steadied himself by placing his hands on Stiles's shoulders, gently squeezed in encouragement. Stiles leaned forward and nearly swallowed his dick in one mind destroying movement. Wet heat slid down his length, and Jackson would have staggered if he hadn't been holding on to Stiles so tightly. He gasped, his shoulders tensed and he tried to remember how to breathe.

Stiles pulled back, but gripped Jackson's hips and encouraged him to thrust. Jackson tentatively pushed forward. Stiles sucked hard, tongue and lips sliding back and forth. It was like he'd done it a thousand times before, and Jackson couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. He looked down at the same time Stiles looked up.

"Fuck," Jackson grunted. "Harder… please…"

Stiles went back to it with a vengeance. Jackson's legs started shaking with the strain. Stiles gripped his hips with almost bruising force. Jackson almost fell when Stiles released him, he immediately wanted back inside, but didn't want to seem greedy.

"Jacks, can we…" Stiles looked down at the floor, his fingers drummed nervously on Jackson's skin. "Can we…"

"Whatever you want," Jackson said. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, but it didn't matter. He'd do whatever Stiles asked.

"Is this good so far?" Stiles wouldn't meet Jackson's gaze. He let out a shocked gasp when Jackson pushed him onto his back and climbed up to straddle his hips, their dicks slid against each other. "Oh god," he panted.

Jackson hadn't expected the sensation, but it was too good to not explore further. He lined them up together and thrust experimentally. Stiles moaned. His head thrashed back and forth on the bed. Jackson gripped his dick and rubbed the underside of it against the head of Stiles's cock.

"Jackson, stop." Stiles hands wrapped around Jackson's wrist to still them. "I'm going to lose it if you keep that up." His face flooded with color at the admission. "Come here." Stiles reached up, and Jackson leaned down to capture his mouth in another kiss.

Stiles rolled them over. Jackson swallowed nervously. Stiles was on top of him, and though a huge part of him wanted that more than anything, fear still twisted through his stomach. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. There was nothing to worry about, it was Stiles, and they were making each other feel good. That's what mattered, but part of his brain was still screaming in protest.

"Do you have protection up here?" Stiles's question was so quiet that Jackson almost thought he hadn't heard it right the first time. He nodded and pointed towards the nightstand next to Stiles, but he couldn't open his eyes. The warm body on top of his moved away, and Jackson started shaking. He heard the wrapper tear open. He knew that he should open his legs to give Stiles more room to maneuver but he couldn't move. "Are you okay?"

Jackson nodded; the movement was rigid and full of tension. He wanted to tell Stiles he was afraid, and he'd almost worked up enough courage when he felt Stiles's fingers grip him to hold his dick steady. His eyes flew open. Stiles rolled the condom over Jackson's twitching cock; he had his tongue trapped between his teeth in concentration.

"What are you doing?" Jackson tried to sit up and slide out from under Stiles, but he couldn't get his legs free.

"Seriously? I thought you'd pretty much done this before, even if it wasn't with a guy." Stiles winked at him.

"I thought—"

"That you were going to be the bottom?" Stiles grinned. Jackson nodded. Words were beyond his ability at this point. Stiles had taken the cap off the bottle of lube he'd found in the drawer along with the condoms. He crawled up Jackson's body, poured some of it on his hand, and spread it over Jackson's dick. "You've initiated everything so far, gone first with everything. I want to do this; you have more experience than I do."

He moved up further, spread his legs and started to drop his weight down. Jackson caught his hips to keep him from slipping down onto his cock. "You're crazy. You'll hurt yourself if you're—"

"Shut up, Jacks." Stiles slapped Jackson's hands away, and with a look of determination lined up Jackson's dick with his entrance. "Just… don't move."

Jackson tried to protest, but Stiles bore his weight down and the tip of his dick slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Stiles let out a pained gasp, his body going rigid. He grit his teeth and rocked a little up and down. Jackson closed his eyes as he slipped further into the too tight heat. "Stiles?"

"I… told you… to shut up." Stiles took a deep breath, reached out and guided one of Jackson's hands to his straining dick. "Distract me."

Jackson shook his head, this wasn't exactly how he imagined their first time, but as Stiles slipped further and further down onto his cock he couldn't think clearly. He gripped Stiles's dick and tugged. Stiles twitched and thrust forward into Jackson's hand. His eyes flew open as his ass finally came down flush against Jackson's crotch. The heat around him was overwhelming, Jackson wanted to move, but he didn't want to hurt Stiles. Being on his back, with Stiles straddling him was simultaneously hot, and incredibly terrifying. Stiles may have been bottoming, but he was still in control.

Stiles rocked up and down, let out a small gasp as he changed the angle. His eyes flew open, and he pried Jackson's hands off his dick. "Stop, stop, stop."

"You said to distract you," Jackson said through his clenched teeth. Stiles was so tight, the movement up and down sent lightning along his nerves.

"You're good at following orders aren't you, Jacks." Stiles leaned forward slightly, but kept bouncing up and down on Jackson's lap.

"You're so tight… so good…" Jackson was the one babbling now. He watched in fascination as Stiles's hips moved, the sound of Stiles's cock slapping against his stomach every time his ass came down on him was obscenely hot. "Are you close?"

Stiles whimpered and nodded his head, his body was shaking, his rhythm erratic as he bobbed up and down. He let out surprised whine when Jackson's fingers curled around his dick and started jacking it in time with his movements. His body jerked, and he started grinding himself down onto Jackson's hips as he came, hot fluid shot out onto Jackson's stomach. Stiles's ass clenched around his dick as the spasms tore through his body.

"Fuck, I'm so close," Jackson said.

"Do you still want to wear a collar for me some day?" Jackson came with a startled grunt. Heat flooded his face. A vague memory floated through his mind of being on his knees waiting, thinking Stiles was going to collar him. Stiles ran a thumb over Jackson's Adam's apple. "Maybe we'll do that next time, when you bottom for me." He leaned down and captured Jackson's mouth in a bruising kiss.


	21. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and Stiles try to sort out their feelings about their first time, and what to do next.

* * *

Stiles was torn. On the one hand he should be climbing off Jackson's body so that they could get cleaned up, but on the other hand, he just wanted to stay plastered all over him. He curled his arms under Jackson's shoulders, buried his head into the side of his neck. They were both breathing heavy, the rapid rise and fall of their chests causing Jackson to slide slightly inside of Stiles's body. What were they supposed to do now? It felt like it'd taken them years to get to this point, but in reality it hadn't been very long. Stiles wondered if that made him a slut.

"Stiles?" Jackson tilted his head, his chin butting up against the side of Stiles's hair.

This was the moment. Stiles gripped Jackson's shoulders, his whole body tensed. Jackson was probably going to ask him to leave now that he'd gotten what he wanted. Stiles tilted his head away from Jackson's skin, turned to look at the headboard they were so close to, but there were no notches there. None that were actually visible anyway. At least Stiles had his jeep, his walk of shame wouldn't take very long, and then he'd be back in his baby and driving home to stay in his tiny, lonely bed.

"Y-yeah?" Stiles's voice cracked, which he hoped Jackson would attribute to something other than slowly spreading fear paralyzing his body.

"You okay?" Jackson's arms came up off the bed, slowly twisted around Stiles's body. He rubbed soothing circles over the small of his back. "Sorry I didn't last very long."

Stiles let out a small chuckle, but swallowed when Jackson's body stiffened underneath him. "I lost it before you. The way I see it you did your job admirably." Stiles turned his head back into Jackson's neck, placed a small kiss on the heated flesh, tried not to think that it might be the last time.

Jackson cleared his throat. He scraped his nails up along the length of Stiles's spine. "It was good?" The rising and falling of Jackson's chest froze in place.

 _Jackson_  was worried that he wasn't good enough? Stiles was the virgin, the terrified one, the awkward and clumsy guy. Jackson was like walking sex appeal, Stiles couldn't believe he'd ever had trouble excelling at anything. The fact that he was worried about it made everything a little easier to deal with. Stiles wasn't dealing with it alone, they were in it together. He lifted his torso up, shivering slightly as Jackson's softening dick slipped out of his body. It felt awkward, and so weird that he didn't think he'd ever be able to describe the sensation to anyone, and pretty glad he'd never have to. Jackson slipped the condom off and disposed of it in the trashcan next to the bed.

"Jacks," Stiles said. He ran a thumb over Jackson's perfect face, but the boy underneath him had his eyes closed, seemed determined not to open them. "Hey, Jacks, look at me."

Jackson was barely breathing, his head turned to the side, but his eyelids didn't open. Stiles hadn't ever seen Jackson afraid. Even when they'd been trapped in the school with the Alpha hunting them, whatever fear Jackson felt was masked by anger and arrogance. This person underneath him, who'd taken Stiles's virginity, reminded him of the sad boy he'd found drunk in the grass clutching a lacrosse stick and a couple bottles of beer.

"I can't." Jackson sounded like the words were being torn out of some deep place inside, like admitting there was something he couldn't do was the worst possible thing in the world. Stiles didn't understand. There was so much he couldn't do, so much he was just outright terrible at, that admitting it never seemed like a thing. To Jackson though, the words were like breathing out your deepest fear while expecting to be laughed at.

"You can." Stiles gripped Jackson's chin with one hand, and turned his head back. Jackson still refused to open his eyes. Stubborn, Jackson was so damn stubborn. Clearly he didn't know Stiles very well if he thought that he'd just give up. He used his thumb to pry one of Jackson's eyelids open. "See? Not so hard."

Jackson's other eye flew open and he shook his head to get Stiles's hands off his face. He slapped Stiles on the ass. "You can be a real pain in the ass."

Stiles couldn't help himself. He started laughing, his whole body shaking with it. "You did not just say that considering what we just did. If anyone should be complaining about that it should be me."

Jackson's eyes got comically wide, and Stiles at first mistook it for shock until Jackson sat up so suddenly he almost slammed their faces together. His hands moved quickly over Stiles's sides and back. "Did I hurt you? I told you to be careful. We shouldn't have—"

Stiles stopped Jackson's tirade with a kiss. He got a good grip in the back of Jackson's hair to keep him from getting away. Jackson's body stiffened at first, in shock or something else maybe. It took a few moments, but then he started kissing back. His arms tightened around Stiles's body, pulled them closer together.

"Don't tell me what we shouldn't have done," Stiles whispered against Jackson's mouth. "The only thing I'm regretting at the moment is that we didn't clean up before we started sticking together."

Jackson pulled back, ice blue eyes blinking. "You say the stupidest shit you know that, right?" He shook his head, but leaned in and placed a soft kiss against Stiles's bottom lip. "You really need to get a handle on that mouth."

Stiles scowled at him. They were sticking together, that was a fact. He nibbled on the lip Jackson had just finished kissing. He shook his head to clear it. He needed to get back on track. He covered Jackson's mouth with one hand. The blonde's eyes narrowed and Stiles could read the message loud and clear. Obviously Jackson hadn't meant  _his_  mouth.

"Shut up, Jackson." Stiles leaned in and kissed his forehead, pulled his legs in tighter next to Jackson's hips. "I don't regret it,  _any_  of it. I'm going to be sore, yeah, but whatever. It was worth it." Jackson licked against the hand covering his mouth. Stiles removed it, but gripped him by both of the ears. "Do not give me any of your bullshit, Jacks. If anyone should be worried that they weren't very good, it should be me. I'm the one who just sort of ran wild on instinct."

Jackson grinned at him, perfect white teeth all on display. "You've got good instincts." He shifted suddenly, dropping back and rolling them over. Stiles let out a surprised gasp. "Don't think I'm going to let you set the pace all the time though."

Stiles closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the back of Jackson's neck to pull him closer. Next time? Knots of tension in Stiles's stomach loosened. Jackson's fingers ran along his thigh and up over his side. Stiles tried not to laugh, but he was prone to tickle fits. He did not want to start giggling, and destroy whatever semblance of manliness he had. "Is there going to be a next time?"

Jackson didn't answer at first. He nosed against Stiles's cheek until he turned his head to the side. He closed his mouth over Stiles's exposed neck, bit firmly and sucked hard. Stiles whined and pushed Jackson's head away with his chin.

"Do you want there to be a next time?" Jackson thumbed over one of Stiles's nipples. "I'll make it good for you."

Stiles let out a shaky breath, wondered if there was anyone in the world who could say no to an offer like that. "Does that mean we're like, dating or something? Are we just fucking around?" Stiles might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water on Jackson. He recoiled so quickly it made Stiles's head spin. He sat back on his ankles, between Stiles's legs. He looked down at himself, seemingly just realizing the state he was in.

"What are we supposed to be boyfriends now? What the hell do you think people in school will say about that?" Jackson rolled off the bed, grabbed one of the discarded towels and wrapped it around his waist.

"Who the hell cares what they think? What do  _you_  think, Jacks?" Stiles got to his feet and tied a towel on too. He didn't have a lot of experience with it, but he was sure arguing with someone when you were naked and they were not pretty much left you at a disadvantage.

"Don't be stupid. The only people who say that you shouldn't care what other people think are the ones who don't have anything to lose." He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door between them.

Stiles stared at the closed door, tried to ignore the fist tightening around his heart. Fury should have been boiling through his blood, but all he felt was suddenly hollow, like he hadn't eaten for so long that it became painful. He walked over to the door, turned and slid down to the carpet to lean back against it. The wood was cold against his back, but it wasn't nearly as cold as Jackson's voice had been.

"Don't do this, Jackson." Stiles brought his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his arms. "Please." A dull thud came from the other side of the door; Stiles felt the small vibration in his spine.

"Why are you doing this to me?" The thud came again, this time a little bit louder. "Why did you do any of this to me?"

Stiles tried to swallow against the pain in his throat. "What are you talking about?" Little pricks, like swallowing pins spiked through Stiles's insides. "Open the door and talk to me, Jacks."

"Don't call me that." Something shattered inside the bathroom. "I can't be what you want. Just fucking leave. I'm not that guy."

Stiles dug his fingernails into his scalp. He didn't want Jackson to be anyone other than who he already was. That was fine, sure sometimes it sucked, but Stiles wasn't exactly perfect. "Where is this coming from?"

Jackson sighed loudly enough that Stiles could hear it through the door. "You're just like Danny. You can't fix me, Stiles. No one can fix me."

Stiles turned around so he was on his knees in front of the door. He tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. "Open the door, Jackson. Don't sit in there and hide like a coward spitting out bullshit about how damaged you are. Man the fuck up, and tell me what it is you're so afraid of." There was soft click as the tumbler in the lock turned, but the door didn't open. Stiles tried the knob again. The door swung open, Jackson was sitting on the floor with his back to the opening. "Why do you care so much about what other people think?"

Jackson shoulders shook, but he didn't turn around. "What other people think is all I see."

Stiles reached out, caught Jackson's shoulder. He crawled across the floor so that Jackson's back was against his chest. "I wish for just one second you would close your eyes."

Jackson leaned back, and Stiles moved back too so that Jackson could stretch out on the floor with his head resting on Stiles's knees. "Okay," Jackson said. He let his eyes fall closed.

Stiles leaned down, placed a soft kiss on Jackson's forehead. "Is this so bad?" Jackson shook his head, but didn't open his eyes, didn't speak a word. "What do you want?" Stiles brushed blonde hair away from Jackson's forehead.

"Stay here tonight," Jackson whispered.

"Okay," Stiles said. "But let's at least get under the covers, okay? I'm not freezing my ass off during your self-identity crisis."

Jackson's eyes fluttered open. "You have no ability to filter what comes out of your mouth do you?"

Stiles grinned. "Once you figure it out, you let me know how it works, yeah?"


	22. Insecurity & Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson tries to make sense of what he's feeling.

* * *

The smell of fresh coffee drifted through the room, tugged at the edges of Jackson's consciousness and pulled him awake. He opened his eyes to see Stiles setting down two cups of coffee on his nightstand. He was wearing Jackson's lacrosse jersey, the maroon a stark contrast against his pale skin. Jackson had seen Stiles in a jersey before, but it had never been  _his_. Stiles also wore a pair of his boxers. Jackson wasn't sure he'd ever seen something quite so amazing.

"What?" Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why are you staring?"

Jackson didn't know what to say to that so he just smiled. Sometimes that could be enough, right? Stiles seemed to think so; he crawled onto the bed, dropped down on top of Jackson's hips. It was a comfortable weight. Jackson couldn't break away from those brown eyes so he just stared. He wanted to keep this moment, wanted it to never end. While they were here, in his room, everything made sense for the first time. They were past the confusion, past the miscommunication. He didn't want it to change, but he knew that it had to.

"Why are you so quiet this morning?" Stiles leaned down, pressed a kiss to Jackson's forehead, and carded his fingers through his hair.

Jackson closed his eyes, because he knew that he'd never be able to say what he needed to while looking at Stiles's face. "I don't know if I can do this anymore." It wasn't supposed to be like this. Jackson wasn't supposed to feel like this. The fingers curling in his hair tightened their grip, Stiles dropped down to rest his head against Jackson's chest.

"Why?" The question was like a knife in Jackson's ear, tugged at a nameless fear lurking in his heart.

"How did you do this to me?" Jackson struggled with the words; on instinct he wrapped his arms around Stiles's back, held him tightly. "I'm scared. When I'm not with you I can't concentrate. When I'm with you all I can think about is that you're going to leave. It's been what? A few weeks? Most of that time we've been fighting." Jackson swallowed against the emotion choking him off. "I'm so fucking scared, and I don't know what to do.  _Why_  did you do this to me?"

Stiles shifted on top of him, curled his arm under Jackson's body, nails digging lightly into his skin. "I think I'm falling in love with you too." Nine words. One simple sentence, but it changed everything.

Is that what it was? Jackson never really thought he was capable of love, was certain he'd never be able to reciprocate it. How was he supposed to respond to that? They spent most of the time they'd known each other not giving a damn what the other one thought. The few interactions they'd had were awkward or even outright hostile. Then one day everything changed. Was that how it was supposed to happen?

"Are you serious?" The words slipped out before Jackson could swallow them down. Stiles's arms around him tightened.

"Yeah." Stiles normally used so many words, an unnecessary amount of words. It was surreal how they'd ended up in Jackson's bed, emotions tied up so tightly they could barely speak. "Please don't ask me to leave again."

Jackson reached out, ran his hand over Stiles's short hair. He didn't know if he could do that. He wanted what was between them too badly, but it frightened him. How were people supposed to live tied up in each other like that? Stiles shifted on top of him, looked up through his long dark eyelashes. His eyes were full of the same fear that seemed to have taken root in Jackson's stomach. He stretched his neck, closed his eyes, and just like that they were kissing.

When they were this close everything made sense to Jackson, with Stiles's lips against his, so soft and smooth, everything was just a little bit easier. He was too greedy to let this go, all he could do was try to cling to it, hope that he didn't fuck it up so badly that Stiles would leave. Was that love? Did it matter? What they had was enough. For right now, it melted the ice all around Jackson's heart.

Stiles pulled back, broke their kiss. Jackson looked up into his face. Stiles wore his heart on his sleeve all the time. You didn't have to look too hard to see what he was feeling. How could he live like that? Jackson lived every moment of his life afraid that what little happiness he had could be taken away at any moment, that he wasn't worthy of having it in the first place. He didn't even know why. It was in his bones, in his blood, that insecurity. The only way he'd ever learned to deal with it was to act like nothing mattered. If no one knew what was important to you they couldn't take it away.

"You're gorgeous," Stiles said. "You know that, right?" He ran a thumb over one of Jackson's eyebrows. "It should be a crime. Have you ever been pulled over for unnecessary hotness?"

Jackson chuckled. "You realize it would probably be your father pulling me over don't you?"

Stiles made a gagging sound, buried his face against Jackson's chest again. "Oh my god," he mumbled. "I can't believe you just put that image in my head."

Jackson traced the length of Stiles's back with his fingers. He slipped his hand under the jersey, tapped an unsteady beat against Stiles's skin. "I'm sorry."

"It's cool. Let's just never ever talk about my father while we're in bed together, okay?" Stiles sat up, traced patterns on Jackson's stomach with a single curious finger. "Jacks…"

How had he ever hated that name? The way Stiles said it, breathed it out like it was something sacred just between the two of them, it coiled around Jackson's heart. "Yeah?" He knew that Stiles was asking him for something, knew that he'd probably give it to him. He just needed to know what it was.

"Can we spend the day together?" Stiles kept his eyes focused on Jackson's stomach, seemed like he was afraid of what Jackson might say, that he'd be turned away again.

Jackson had tried to send him away too many times already. He didn't have the strength to attempt it again. He was in it now, and that meant that he'd do it as best as he could, because that's what it meant to be Jackson Whittemore.

"Yeah. Whatever you want. You have plans?" Jackson reached out, gripped the jersey Stiles was wearing and pulled him down. It wasn't so terrifying anymore, to have Stiles's weight on top of him, surrounding him.

"I can't remember them right at this exact moment," Stiles whispered against Jackson's lips. "Help jog my memory?"

Jackson grinned, curled his hand around the back of Stiles's neck, and kissed him like it was the only thing he needed to live. At that moment, it felt like it was. One of Stiles's hands skittered over Jackson's side, nails scraped lightly on his skin. Jackson was never going to get enough of that. "Better?"

"Getting closer, it's like it's right on the tip of my tongue."

Jackson bit at Stiles's lower lip, slipped his tongue into Stiles's mouth when he let out a tiny gasp. If it was on the tip of Stiles's tongue then Jackson would find it. Whether or not Stiles would be able to articulate it when he was done he had no idea. He rolled them over, traced his fingers over his number on the maroon fabric.

"You're really getting off on me wearing this aren't you?" Stiles smirked up at him.

"I think I could get us both off better if you weren't wearing any of my clothes."

Stiles nearly tore the jersey trying to get it off as quickly as he could. "So not arguing with that…"


End file.
